Because I never cared much for money, or at least realized that it was a tool that I was never very good at using, it wasn’t a big step for me to stop trying to attain it, and to simply let life provide as she wished while I floated through her Cracker Jack box of fate in search of the prize of destiny. I was fortunate, as we all are, to have others take that road before me, to inspire me, show me the ropes, and reveal to me the possibiliites of life beyond the perpetual insanity that gripped the rest of the world.
One such luminary was a man who was Beat by the name of Jack Kerouac. And although he had his own share of insanity, when I read his prescription for the Rucksack Revolution, I knew that I had found a path for my own personal brand of crazy.
“see the whole thing is a world of rucksack wanderers, Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that crap they didn’t really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deoderants and general junk you finally always see a wek later int he garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce consume, I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountans to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of ’em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures.”
THAT didn’t seem insane to me. So in homage to the Dharma Bums who had gone before me and to the one who said he had no place to lay his head, I took to the road in search for a cure to my insanity.
Took off for California, made it halfway there
blizzards too my roads away and left me snowblind
It’s a permanent vacation for the next few months
just waiting for that snow to melt in that Rocky Mountain sunshine
Then I’ll be on the road again
They say it’s my way of thinking that keeps me seeking more
some say my wires are wrapped too loosely, some say I’ve come unwound
Somehwere in Carolina the future passed me by
all my dreams were blinked away. I think they headed westbound
so I took to the road again
there’s tao between reflectors, nirvana’s exit fifty three
even my man Jesus said take up your cross and follow me
I put it in my backpack right next to my canteen
I was hoping for some living water, got crucifixion tea
I found it on the road again
some miles last for minutes
some inches last for days
only two choices at a fork in the road, where’s your imagination
cars were meant to hurry, planes were meant to rush
I’m thinking about the journey, I reached my destination
when I took to the road again
Soon I’ll be on the road again
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Steve McAllister is the author of The Rucksack Letters and How to Survive an Estralarian Mind Meld. He posts regularly at InkenSoul.com, is sometimes posts at Anything Arts, Sarasota Music Scene, and Elephant Journal, and is currently the Director of Operational Development for the Common Wealth Time Bank in Sarasota, Florida. Follow him on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube.