His coworkers were worried by him.
The way he would disappear to the window around noon to stare
for what felt like timeless hours
at the orchid while it soaked up the sun
placing his hands on each side of the vase
closing his eyes with intention
and humming.
It was ritualistic
in an otherwise bleak uninterested environment.
He might as well have performed
an ayahuasca ceremony in the middle of the conference room.
He didn’t really care that he made anyone uncomfortable.
There was a certain freedom in understanding that when you are true
it is very often going to tug at the thin stretchy strings of the plastic mask of society
it is very often going to leave people quiet on their nighttime commutes
back into their caves to sit around fires
performing ayahuasca ceremonies
or alternatively microwaving a hot pocket and watching Maury until they fall dead asleep.
What ceremonies are strange after all?
maiurro 