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Chapter Seven: Good Friday
Previously: Back home in L.A., yet feeling as though he had no home, The Fool finally left the airport.
I could see all the way to the mountains,
which was rare for L.A.
So I decided to just drive.
It was funny:
for the first time in my life I didn’t feel scared.
The sky was so pretty
I wanted to just drive right up into it,
but you can’t get there from L.A.
So I thought maybe I’d go to the mountains.
But after about an hour-and-a-half
I ended up in the foothills.
It was still early, so I missed all the traffic.
And yet I didn’t miss it at all.
It was Friday morning.
I didn’t know till later that it was Good Friday,
but it seemed pretty good to me.
It was weird,
driving around in L.A. and not being scared.
I felt a little like a kid.
I understood for the first time ever, I think,
that I really didn’t know about “things.”
I felt empty inside.
But not empty like dead,
empty like clean,
or cleaned out,
because the good side of not knowing anything
was that I didn’t know anything wrong anymore either.
It was as if all this time I’d been running around
trying to find some missing part,
but now I suddenly realized
that I was the missing part,
and even if I couldn’t do anything about it,
knowing that was a kind of relief;
like the old joke about the moron’s head
feeling so much better
when he stopped beating it against the wall.
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