I can't really remember what I was thinking in the minutes before she entered my life. Her presence affected me so much that I entered into a state of permanent amnesia.
Or it could have been the loss of blood to my brain.
In any case, my story begins at that defining moment--that moment when a clarion call rang out from the faraway hills of the High Sierras and recalled my spirit from whence it came. Her presence was the conduit for that call and her smile the finishing touch that drove a stake into the heart of my humdrum life. From that mortal wound, I was reborn into the upper valleys of Sierra County. Fresh as a babe, I sought only to suck on the teat of wonderful existence, nourishing my very core with a joi de vivre that itself had become born in the flesh.
I knew not where this newfound vigor would take me or what else this stunning vision might tear asunder. Nor did I really care. Sharp pains penetrated my side as though I were being stabbed by a thousand needles while dull, thudding blows were applied to my kidneys and back. And yet still, I cared not. My life had been transformed by an angelic presence and these feelings only served to remind me that I was indeed still alive. That I was clean, new, refreshed, and intoxicated with the boundless possibilities of all creation. I stood before God and man and proclaimed my love for all things great and small, for the meek and the turgid alike, and for both the stagnant silence of winter and the cacophony of late spring.
For that brief moment, I was both part and parcel of the land, the planet, and with hubristic glee, seated at the table of universal brotherhood with all things.
The moment faded to blackness as quickly as it came as my last breath came to a close on the blacktop of a convenience store in Reno, Nevada.
If you remember nothing else of my journey, please remember this: Be careful which burrito you buy at the Seven-Eleven.
