I knew I was back in the land of the living (or is that the dead), when I rolled into Taco Bell in San Luis Obispo and the kid behind the counter asked me if I was ready to think outside the bun.
Bun, what bun? Not catching on at first, I gave him a deadpan stare.
‘Are you living más today?’ My senses were on overload. The fluorescent lights, the glaring food board, this kid’s quips hammering away at my now seven days quiet brain. When I didn’t answer he looked confused, ‘Maybe just poquito?,’ he asked. Yeah buddy, two hours ago I was más and now I’m re-entering the world of poquito trying to mentally maintain más. You with me?
That’s what it’s like when I leave Big Sur. It’s more than the standard vacation’s over flatline.
It’s like coming down from a massive trip; a completely disconnected, utterly peaceful yet internally conflicted state of being. You can’t get away from yourself up there. It holds no distractions. Try as you may to lose yourself in the sea or the sky, the trees or that neverending horizon, inevitably all that echoes back is who you are. All your demons come to the surface leaving no choice but to acknowledge and deal with them which, if you’re open, can be a very cleansing albeit sobering thing.
I think you could go mad there, but I guess what I’m saying is I’m willing to find out. Six months away and one week back only reinforced it.