The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 129
I got it. I got what Linda said. But, ugh, again, man—the fear of letting go—of implementation, and especially of what comes after, because, in this case, you’re relying, essentially, on nothing. Or it’s a something you can’t tell anybody about because they’ll think you’re crazy. And, maybe you ARE, for chrissake. I mean, you go on “sky dances” in a place called the Enchanted Realm, dude, and now you’re telling me your cat tranced you out, made you visit… Tahiti or someplace? And then, Robert, honestly… they hermaphrodite your ass? Then more bullshit about the Manipura, whatever the hell that is? I mean please, man.
Me: OK. Yer like, a Republican, right?
But, see, Linda didn’t stop putting her head in my hand after that one night. It was there almost every night. So fuck it. I went with it. We’d have to move eventually. Sybil would have to get her trailer out of here, eventually.
Until eventually happened, fuck it.
It was important, somehow, that beach scene—that place I’d return to each night upon Linda resting her head in my right palm. You could BE anything that was there: the sea, the jungle, the sand, the boy, the girl, even unseen things living under the sand and water, even the reflection of a seagull in the eye of a hatchling.
But hey, what any of that’s got to do with NOT looking for a new place to live beats me. Somehow, though, they were linked. Maybe the nebulous connection had to do with my brain adapting the rest of me to confront, or prepare to confront, the materialization of my biggest fear: dropping Hank & Linda at the pound.
Honestly, that wasn’t my biggest fear. I was afraid for myself. Could I somehow deflect or truly ever get past the despair such an act would cause?