I Died Out There

Thoughts On Vision Fast Years Later

Lips split like overripe fruit. Skin turning to leather. Dreams of drowning while dying of thirst.

The guide left me with eight words. Dry lands give what you need, not what you want.

Vision quest bullshit. Nothing but sand and sun and stars.Just me and everything I'd been running from.

My failures. My kid's face. My ex. My old man. Dead before I got my shit together enough to visit. Thought I might die out there. Part of me wanted to. Part of me did.

Talked to a rock. Named it Adam. Better conversation than most people I know. Ran around naked. Cried. Alot. Screamed. Laughed. Danced.

"What'd you learn?" They asked when I returned.

Took me a minute to remember how words work.

I died out there. Not the metaphorical bullshit kind of death. The real thing.

The warrior inside me—38 years of armor, of addictions, of fucking handshakes and empty promises—wouldn't shut up. Wouldn't let go.

Night two. Stars exploded overhead. Galaxies collided while I sat in the dirt, watching my life burn away.

I cried until I puked. Snot and spit and sounds I didn't know a human could make.

Stood vigil for myself like some knight at his own funeral. Watching. Waiting. For what?

For death.

Not the kind doctors write on certificates. The kind that happens when you finally see yourself for what you are.

Alone.

Fifth morning. Sun like a blade across the sand.

A new man walked out of that desert. Not because of some mystical bullshit. Because the old one couldn't survive what he saw out there.

What I saw.

I’m my best-kept secret. I’m the story. I’m the author.

The only people worth a damn are the ones who'd come pick you up and help you bury the body you just killed without asking questions. Find those people and never let them go.

Everyone else is just a business card waiting for the trash.

I died out there.

The new me is still figuring out if that's a good thing.