[lit-ideas] Embrace Peace, he said.

Mike sayeth: "Get with the program ... embrace peace."
Mike must be on to something, I thought. He usually is. So I went out into the world* to embrace peace. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Now if only I could find some peace. Emerson wrote that one could only find peace in the triumph of principles, but he was dead so screw him, I thought. At least that's what I thought I thought.
Anyway I looked at the animals, but they were too busy killing and eating each other. When one animal ate another, it usually left the inedible parts -- like the skeleton, the claws, some fur, and a DKNY sweatshirt -- in the leaves. Then insects came to eat up most of those parts and sometimes they ate each other. Finally plants grew up through what was left of the skeleton. It was disgusting. Obviously the wrong place to find peace. To make matters worse, I read Richard Eberhardt's poem, "The Groundhog," right after reading Henry Thoreau's description of the war of the ants. They were both dead, though, so screw them, I thought. At least that's what I thought I thought.
So I looked at people, and well you know people. The less I say about that, the better.
So I looked inside my own thoughts. Believe me, that wasn't easy. First I had to (a) think, (b) notice I was thinking, and (c) try to look inside. Man, was that ever bogus! Just a bunch of selfish falderol rattling around a rapacious ego -- all in high-definition 3-D color with a Dolby-enhanced sound system at high volume. (Maybe the mid-range pushed a little lower than it should have been.) It was a miscellany of self-contradicting and easily distracted neurons all fighting each other for dominance, using ideas as excuses. The less I say about that, the better.
Then I went for a walk in the park and met one of those Rainbow People. You know them? They look like bums, only they wear colorful shirts and tie-dyed clothing. He had green hair, wore a cowry-shell necklace, and smelled like Port Salut cheese and horseradish. When he noticed me, he smiled, made some gesture with his fingers like when Moe tries to poke Larry's eyes, and said, "Peace." So I embraced him.
He hit me. I give up. Something must be wrong with Mike's instructions, I thought. At least that's what I thought I thought. 

Eric

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* The external world, that is, without my sensory impressions of it. Whew, what a schlep that was! But I don't want to belabor you with a long story that has no manifest ending and might not even have a beginning, while the middle ... the less I say about that, the better. 
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