Chewing the Cud

There is nothing quite like that moment when you're walking through the park and happen upon a spot where a group of goats are chewing the cud in a nearby field. If the one o'clock sun is shining down in all its glory to help mitigate the fact of a frigid autumn temperature, well, all the better still. And, by Elohim (along with every minor deity currently weaving magic through the cosmos), if you happen to be slowly savoring the day's first cigarette right then and there, well, dadgum, shoot, and gee willikers, you just done gone 'n felt a little slice of heaven sliver with a shiver up and down your spine. We call that the real Holyfield around these parts.

It's holy trifecta gold when the kundalini buzz triangulates inside a brain. Fractal pattern shift their shape, manifesting kaleidoscopic prisms out of thin air. Angelic angles align, finding perfect cohesion at the core. Geometric sanctification results in absolution as attunement is achieved at the highest vibration. Rhythmic wings gently guide the frequency of ascension into orbit. Fractions of quantum mechanical blueprints temporarily become apparent, only to drift away like dust in the wind as ideas get flighty and mathematical equations disperse with an exponential quickness. This is all just a way of saying something without really saying anything at all. Other than the fact that two hawks are circling in the sky above as countless cars drive beneath them, single file, along a straight road to nowhere. Nature is wiggly. But traffic rules and regulations are hard as a rock. Just like some of the stoned heads that banged themselves together to come up with this red tape, bureaucratic, penalty-laden, pyramid system scam. Trying to turn earth into a purgatory prison. Bread and water for inmates. Vaccine cocktails for the specimens. Methods of transaction need to fundamentally shift. No one is satisfied with eating cake forever. Where's the blood? Where's the wine? Where's the rose? Where's the sign? Where's the sweet tooth junkie going to run? Where's the raw vegan guru going to hide? Where's the GMO? Where's the healthcare scare? Where are the doctors going to sleep? Where are the homeless going to freeze? Where're the birds? Where're the bees? Where's the honey? Where's the sting? Where's the bandage for this wound? Where's the future of toxic plumes? Where's the poison? Where's the doom? Where's the virus? Where's the gloom?

Good Lord! Sweet Jesus! Where were you raised, boy? In a barn? Didn't you ever learn not to leave the door of your psyche wide open? Weren't you ever taught the power of snake medicine? Didn't the shaman slam down all. his wu wu, voodoo knowledge on your head at birth? Didn't you receive the source download when you were snatched from star sleep and spit out the mortal womb? Didn't you suck a thumb soaked in vodka while cutting your incisors? Didn't you decide to dance to the sound of madness before you ever even crawled? Didn't. you scrawl hieroglyphics on cave walls back when you were just yay tall? Didn't you scowl in the face of lions and hunt your way to the top of the heap? Didn't you take the hit of garden evolution from the jungle plant? Didn't you leap with faith from one plateau to another? Didn't you grow from seed? Won't you return to soil? Aren't you just like all the rest? Isn't this whole illusion cut from the same cloth? Didn't we divide from the original Oneness when the dualistic ego got the bright idea to trip the light fantastic?

Now the Milky Way is a paradise of melted cotton candy floating along the river of Tao. Now it's time to switch off the power, cut the cords, close the blinds, pull the curtains, and fall silent. Now it's time to scream once more before completely shutting up. Now it's time to burn out righteously so we can rise again. Now it's time for an electric encore. Now it's time for a thrilling sequel. Now it's time for absolution through enlightenment. Now it's time to slay all dragons. Now it's time to reawaken. Now it's time to cast off dark shadows, shun the wickedness of evil in this world, and reclaim the sovereign birthright of humanity's unlimited spiritual potential. Now it's time for a new epoch of true freedom!

So get after it, kids. I'll just be over here staring at some goats near the pearly gates of Evermore.


© Scott Thomas Outlar Scott Thomas Outlar lives and writes in the suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He guest-edited the Hope Anthology of Poetry from Culture Cult Press as well as the 2019, 2020, and 2021 Western Voices editions of Setu Mag. He has been a weekly contributor at Dissident Voice for the past seven years. More than 2,000 of his poems have been published in literary venues around the world. Selections of his poetry have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Azerbaijani, Bengali, Dutch, French, Hindu, Italian, Kurdish, Malayalam, Persian, Serbian, and Spanish. His Seventh Book, Evermore, was written along with coauthor Mihaela Melnic and released in 2021. More about Outlar's work can be found at 17Numa.com and he has a YouTube Channel as well.

Chewing the Cud