A Boy By Tim Atkinson

A BOY Peter had a job as a Project manager with Square Root Computer Associates and earned big money to indulge his life with his dear new wife, Ann. They lived in Kings Cross to dulcify their excessive lives with drugs such as Brightly Speed and occasionally Staggering Beautiful Heroin. Peter and Ann. What a beautiful couple. Ann worked as a Web Coordinator with Circle Root Company and created web pages that specialised in news falsifications. What could more do Peter and Ann need? They had all the resources at their disposal and their needs were more than adequately met. Dear wife Ann shot Holy Pope Angel up in her neck to qualify her fleeting existence just before she tied a dear tight knot (marriage) with dear Peter. Peter annulled her Holy Pope Angel supply and dear Ann switched to Brightly Speed to assist her coordination within the speedy lifestyle of old Kings Cross. Their marriage was constrained further by their own illusory imaginations assisted by their excessive consumptions of Brightly Speed and Very Reverend Holy Weeds. One night, they got bored from watching the idiot box after injecting Slightly Brightly Speed in their ankle veins to heighten their lacklustre existence. After they shot up more drugs, they decided to have a brisk walk in the glitzy and stinky Darlinghurst Rd., Kings Cross where the prostitutes, homeless guys, strippers, wealthy people, no hopers and what-haves swarm. They walked with euphoric peace and all of a sudden, they heard shotguns behind their backs. A world famous rock’n’roller (name withheld for legal reasons) shot virtually everywhere with Magnum .22 calibre. He was only 360 centimeters behind Peter and Ann. His shots missed them by only centimeters. Peter walked studiously as if nothing had happened, but Ann jerked slightly and Peter said, “Keep walking and look ahead or you’ll be shot!” Vrroomm, woow, waaow wa wa wo, the sirens blared…

The wearied couple returned home with freshly baked Brumby’s bread, Pauls very rare and expensive pressure pasteurized platypus milk. Ann, with bleached straight hair, dull grey eyes and green teeth said, “I’ll never ever walk out there again. I’d rather shoot up in our cosy small possum place!” “Don’t be silly, that was an isolated case. We need regular walks to maintain our needle poked muscles, my dear”, said brown haired straight faced Peter as a matter-of-factly. “But, I need not go again and this is my choice”, said Ann as a matter-offactly. “Well, uhmm arm….” said contemplative Peter who peered at the wall opposite the kitchen. Peter’s thoughts had metamorphosed into a clear conclusion that he should leave his dear wife so that he could explore the greater life boundaries outside old Kings Cross. He packed up his rotted brown antique suitcase, walked to the heavily bolted door and opened it. Ann went and whispered softly beside him, “Where are you going, my dearest?” He replied, “I’m leaving you to contemplate the meaning of this life. I’ve had enough of arguing with you over tribal trivial issues”. “But, the reason that you’re leaving me is equally trivial! Please don’t leave me. I need you and your resources”. Peter knew that she needed his money to help feed her luscious drug habit. “You are on your own, Ann”, said Peter and he stood with legs apart, arms folded, being 6 foot 4 inches tall and looked down Ann. Ann looked up with her eyebrows up and straight mouth, “Please don’t leave me!”. He stepped out of the door to his new life as a street kid. A street kid. The boy becoming. Peter ventured out to seek the true nature of the multiple universes, just like the Buddha did 2600 years ago. Ann looked at Peter walking away carrying his suitcase. Oh boy! What a pitiful sight! The boy just found his new commodity, his life. It’s his new toy to play around with. To touch and feel life, he knew he had to do it only by himself and without any outside references. Oh boy, what a move!

Peter looked up at the starry sky of Kings Cross and did have a minute thought of returning to Ann. He was holy scared shitless. He walked to the Kings Cross station, but it was closed at 3 a.m. He walked to the Town Hall station. It was closed. He looked up at the starry sky of Town Hall and thought, “What have I got to lose? A lot!” He went back to his cosy possum place and knocked on the door. Knock, knock. “Who’s there?” Peter squeezed his nose and said “Ip” “Ip who?” “Ha, ha, ha, ha!” “Peter!” “Ann!” It was a joyful reunion! Just like galaxies that collided explosively that caused false supernova sightings. Peter said, “Sorry, I forgot something”. Ann, “What did you forget, my dear?” Peter, “My diary” He picked up his diary and walked out of the door again. “What’s going on? Where are you going my dear?” said Ann. “Well, I came back only to pick up my young diary. Good bye!” stoically answered brown eyed Peter who has a small mouth and high cheek bones. This explains the false supernova sightings. Ann cried pitifully and screamed, “You galah mongrel scumbag and what else!”

Peter had to quit his job and left everything he had in Sydney, except for his trusty suitcase, clothes, diary and $10,000 from his job’s severance payment. He bought a rice-burner (a Japanese automobile) for $2000 and repaid the rest of the $25,000 drug loan for Ann’s druggie problem. He was bankrupt. With his street kid smartness, he survived by milking petrol from other cars to fill up his car. He regularly killed possums in the parks. He skinned and ate delicious possums. What a life! He had a very small amount of money reserved for the city accommodations which he sparingly used. What a life! Thus he espoused a new age philosophy of life, “Give it up, man!” He drove, he walked and he ate. He expelled all forms of holistically evil attachments. These impeded his search for the earthly truth. The truth was directly linked with the galaxy milky way just over there. Had he known that truth was not absolute? Had he known that everything was temporary? Had he known that everything is connected and all is One? Had he known that everything is empty of its intrinsic existence, which means that things arise in dependence on causes and conditions? Had he known that life is a great deception? Had he known that ingenious is the game of deception? Had he known that everything comes from his mind? Had he know that the wisdom of egolessness is the way? He had dropped his brain in the sea of frothy acidic/basic cocktail of recreational drugs and thought that he’d be OK. Each person in Australia boasted their own excessive array of evil attachments. Peter wanted to bash out all elements of his past lives and live with only his clothing and the whatnots. Everyday, people often mixed with each other and highlighted their own achievements (ho hum). They also tried to make everything as realistic as they could possibly be. This turned Peter right off. He knew he had to detach himself from everything in order to be liberated and free. But, he thought, what about his attachment to life? Dignity, trust, respect and loyalty were his paramount life wisdoms. Peter travelled around Australia. He veered on his own future timeline life path through the wormholes paralleling the multiple universes. On one of his stopover, he saw animals that teetered around in Melbourne Botanical Park and thought, “If they were born that way, then they can’t help the way they are”. People are that way cos’ they were born that way and

cannot be blamed for what they are or did. Is it possible that everything is constructed solely from time independent wormholes? He wondered if everything was only an illusion. He wondered how the reality of the existence of ourselves and all the phenomena around us could be empty. In order to be liberated, he had to seek out the understanding about the emptiness of non-dualistic everything (it’s beyond the scope of the story). Peter rested his slightly scarred head on the oak tree root that overlooked the concentrically rippled lake. He felt that he was better off pursuing his life only with his own observations, and not to rely on any others. Whenever he used other people’s resources and/or insights, his life was not always content. All thoughts belonged to the rightful thinkers. He knew that in order to be fully liberated and free, he had to have a correct, sharp crystal clear perception of everything. He knew that he had no “I” and that everything is connected and dynamically changed every nanosecond. Nothing is permanent. The mind is everywhere and cannot be localized. The “I” always disappears into another form and thus cannot be grasped. We are dissolved into nothingness. Welcome to nothingness! He explored Melbourne after he had a mighty adventure in Bodella; he decided that most established names of places were irrelevant. If he saw a town with huge sheep markets where sheep tottered here, there, somewhere and sometimes not here then it should be called “Sheep Town”. If it changed to a horse market, then it should be renamed “Horse Town”. Labels are dynamic. There were numerous other places he went to and only noted their temporary names he believes that was rightfully appropriated within their own surroundings in his diary. He called his diary a “Logbook”. Logbook. Cattle Town. Boat Town. Yawn Boring Town. Numerous Traffic Lights Town. Dopey Town. Surfing Town. Mining Town. A logbook of experiences that became obsolete tomorrow. He knew that future determines now, and what he does now, ultimately decided his fate. He had to exercise this with extreme caution and he knew that he didn’t have much time to waste – “Life is short”. After his short siesta on the gum tree root, he looked at the ants and marveled how organized they were. They did things with harmony, love, respect and were highly organized with their activities. He sat up and looked at picnickers who gobbled drinks and food mindlessly. Further out, he saw a food market milieu bursting with life on the road. People. People. People did this and that. People killed people

and animals. People were often not happy and angry. People continued to wage deadly wars. People did not know how to communicate, love and copulate copiously fearlessly. He laid back to watch the peaceful ants that scuttled on the tree root through the waving line. Life is a journey, not destination. Ants with no brains were smarter than people, Peter thought. Oh, what a paradox and he knew that he had a long way to go. He explored the delicate tapestries of life. And then he realised that ownership was illusory. Yes, the illusion was the grand game, playing on the minds of all. He sat up again and was inspired from watching ants, he wrote a poem in his logbook: Life, oh what mystery! Thinking causes misery, Beauty derives not only from variety in unity, But, also from unity in variety, Illusory diversity makes life interesting! Oh, what life! How are the ants so organized? Why are people so messy? Oh, what a mystery! Thinking and doing this, Makes my life missed, GIVE IT UP, MAN! To what would the answer serve? Nothing! So, GIVE IT UP, MAN! He wrote “GIVE IT UP, MAN!” in bold letters to show that his own little new found philosophy was now ingrained. After several years of simple life and strict mind training, he became an Enlightened being. He has given up everything and thus his story ends here on a triumph, as it cannot be recorded further! Everything exists, but all are illusory.