The Purple Route

What commands man the beast to attention? What calls forth the convictions imprisoned within his heart, and leads him to impassioned speech? The inexplicable, a thing that transcends our construct of time, and the parochial views we ignorantly judge to be standards. As a humanist, I derive joy from studying the gift labeled life and learning about the different parts of the human experience. I am a man with odd manners and flaws ever-present; However, my tongue has proven to be an ideal. Furthermore, from my infancy, it rose rapidly to eminence and has been the standard of eloquence. Nevertheless, I am humble enough to admit I have been given a gift, and with it I will tell stories. I hope through my stories I will justify the existence of mankind.

A story about the woman I met on the purple route. She had a routine and the discipline to maintain it even in the face of both minor and major inconveniences. She was not rigid by any means, however. In fact, she preferred the organic process when it came to doing or being. She had a job that required her to be onsite five out of the seven days. I was curious how with a schedule like that, she found fulfillment or had a balanced life. I believe some people live interesting lives so life can seem at least interesting to others. Now that can either encourage you or make you resentful after hearing the ugly truth. I would be wise to admit my curiosity was not the reason I wanted to spend more time with her. I say wise because honesty is my best attempt to speak with conviction. However, spoken words at times have truth inverted.

It is Wednesday night, and a “good days work” was the sentence. Suddenly, this thing hit me, this urge, an overwhelming sensation to share. I wanted to share the reasons why I had a good day. To me, it was evident that I was going to text that pretty motherfucker. I found myself at her apartment mostly on Wednesday nights and we weren’t left with much time because I worked late, and she had to be up early. I sent a text asking if she was available and to my surprise, she was apparently going to ask me the same. She had gotten Thursday off from work and was wondering if I wanted to spend the night. Not only would this give us more time that night, but we could spend the whole of Thursday together.

This was not my first time spending the night at her place, but it was the first time she had explicitly asked me to. The previous times that I did sleep over, it was because I was either too intoxicated or high out of my fucking mind. I replied to her invitation in the most nonchalant way possible. This is me trying to be the “cool guy” but, I was only adding to the unhealthy belief system that acting like you do not care is somehow a sign of dominance. If you believe otherwise take a moment and ask yourself, have I sufficient reason? A clouded instinct will eagerly answer, but a patient one rest its tongue. Optimistically disregarding what is present should serve as a reminder at first. After that, it should be grounds for expressing the sincerest of gratitude’s. To put it simply, there is more intimacy to be felt than you have been led to believe but not when you welcome greed and caress its dire deeds.

Moreover, the consequences of doing so will leave you broken and resentful. To what end? To what end will you now justify such behavior? How can you justify betraying the soul’s way of being? The very way that has brought you everything you could express gratitude for. Why silence your instincts? Or act as if turning a blind eye was enough to stop the soul from crying “LIAR!” The soul’s way is fighting or to fight. Fight for truth and for lovers of truth because that’s the first step toward freedom of choice. When you have fought and given it your best then you can choose whether to walk away.