I Am Not Going Your Way...

A big hippie picked me up and carried me down the street grids of straight America and past all the square box houses. In those houses people, screens, one in every room and one in every hand and pocket. All looking at the same thing, calling it different, calling it freedom while we passed them going our own way. 

I and the hippie were one in our recognition of our differences. Not that our differences were so great to set us apart in our own square box house but there were some rules that were universal truths to be held through time and space by enlightened Buddhas like ourselves. 

Those rules that had me carried, swept away by the expectations of a tired old world were that it would not be ok the climb on the cabinet and put my feet in the butter dish, that warm, greasy room temperature soul bath of happiness. 

The big hippie picked me up and carried me...going our own way.