Hobo with a chillum

Posted: November 2, 2012 in experience
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Day 8 without a shower:

Day 1 through 7 has gone by in a daze. The smell is creeping up. It’s not strong enough to overpower the senses of passing tourists, but it has come to purge the area around my nose.

Deodorants mask the monstrosity that has become my physical being. But like all man-made things, it also fades away. All that is left for me is to follow the daze, to try forgetting the smell born out of laze.

The forests¬†beckon me – “Come to us, the further you go from ‘cleanliness’, the more you feel clean”. It’s a call from the wild – Be wild. The smell will go. It’s cold; it always goes. It just dissipates. Just like all our worries. One more pull of that magical flute, and all your worldly associations are dulled out. It has become your rite of passage to the land of the uncultivated, the free, the wanderers, the helpless life-addicts. And there’s always a welcoming party.

When the elements sparkle orange, it’s a party. When the lungs squirm in agony and exhilaration, it’s a party. When eyes glaze over and thoughts play havoc, it’s a party. When the haze of cloudy vapour masks every smell, its a party. A party of liberating proportions. One just for my senses. With me as host, guest and entertainment.

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