Mice Parade
June 4th, 2002 Ryan Jones
I awoke one morning to find a mice parade strolling by my bed. They were a pursuant to a vibe, a vibe I heard through the walls of a crashing tumbler. I rose myself from my bed, taking care to not trample the stream of rodents, and lowered my great self to their level. There but one stepped out of the procession and gave me a great stare, unblinking, guiltless and pondering. I too did stare at it in like manner. Having completed this mute exchange the mouse and I returned to our former positions.
Where did the stream of mice begin? Moreover, what is the destination? The obligations of the day, and life itself, dissipated as I readied myself with shoes and a coat, and followed the procession outside my bedroom to the halls outside, down the stairwell nine floors, and out onto the streets outside.
Through ice, through snow, through dirt and weed, sloshy mud and crackling frost, I tracked the mice across the city, the line of rodents never terminating over the horizon. In my newfound sense of purpose, the simple nature of my quest gave way to a serenity and inner peace. All I had to do was follow these creatures to their destination, should they have one.
Yet in that thought terror struck me. What indeed if we did reach the end of our journey? Of what of our lives then, of purpose and desire? Will there be a new quest to embark on? Or with the end of the parade comes the end of us? Folly, folly, folly.
We are but a mice parade. For now, that is all I needed – and wanted – to concern myself with. We were a pursuant to the vibe, the vibe coming through the walls of a crashing tumbler, and we did not know where we came from nor where we go, but we go because that is what we do. In this, we live.
I guess in a way we all have to find our own mice parade to join. It’s not mindless conformity, as most are wont to despise, it’s accepting simple purpose. Life’s too short to submit the body and the mind to grand, epic tasks. It’s about finding a simple stream of creatures and joining them in their confident march toward a goal, a destination, a purpose.
Join the health parade. Join the love parade. Join the happiness parade. Just join the mice parade, and march towards a goal. Singular purpose outweighs the lofty thoughts of the malcontent.
Christ, that was some pretentious bullshit, wasn’t it?
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