Running Away to Home

Tolstoy slipped out shortly before he died and preached love on a train ride south.

I, drunk on two beers, contemplate running off into the snowy forest and abandoning the responsibilities I've accumulated. Who needs my life or identity. Some stiff. A man who pays his bills. A man whose fears have surrounded him.

The call of the Real beckons. Can I live it without abandoning those closest to me? The ones I call friends, family, lover?

Am I drunk only on beer? When will I return to vitality and give up this ruse of living small? I am a madman. I weep and wail each day. How can I work on my budget when the forces of the universe rage inside me? What is this lie we are all living? The suppression of our vitality in the name of order? Why aren't we taught to channel our madness? It is suppressed and channeled for us into vice. We are best on the battlefield. Only there does charging to our death get official sanction. We can finally act how we wish. Glory is self expression of the higher will. Not self-insistence of the base desires. Would a man be better off sulking and providing for his family or dying in honor and letting the Lord decide the fates of others? Do we not carve our own sentence from trees of obligation? Are we not fools for pretending we are forced into docility? We are the ruse we seek to unveil. The grand lie of our consistency is Lucifer's hope. Ego maintenance in the name of disenfranchisement of the soul.

He lies to us and tells us not to trust ourselves. It is our task to shed our image and live from the invisible milk of our self-abandonment. Wildness meets freedom at the well of Revelation and is shocked to learn there is only rest and life and goodness springing up. There is no risk, no acting out. Only the perfect gesture delivering space, grace, ease, relief. The forest is the symbol of man alone with God. Bring the forest into your heart and you have won your freedom.