Thought Chasm

The raft bucks and sways with the small waves. Rays of clear sunlight beat against my eyelids and warm my chest. In the distance, voices and boat motors spill over one another into a constant, whisper-quiet hum.

I lay on the plastic, all-weather carpet, breathing slowly. The lapping of the waves against the pontoons passes for aggressive compared to all else. My body resists nothing, releasing any tension, rolling slightly on the raft as it sways.

My swim shorts, just moments ago soaked through, dripping, are half dry. The puddle that formed under me has mostly evaporated. The turf scratches my shoulders and calves but is incredibly comfortable.

The motor of a wave-runner revs to my left, speeding from shore. A group of people walk down the pier, talking loudly but not to me. Someone laughs to my right, toward the small resort’s main complex.

I sigh. There’s no way to appreciate the stillness fully. In weeks, I’ll be back at school, inundated with stimuli. This, a fond memory, if that; most of the details blurred and faded.

My left eye opens slightly, letting the glaring sun in. I lift myself to my elbow, looking around lazily. I slide to the left and roll onto my stomach, resting my cheek on the backs of my hands.

A cloud passes, cutting the suns warmth. I recognize the voice of my friend’s mother but can’t decipher her words. My mind wanders, remembering the conversations from last night as her son and I drank around our pathetic fire.

We are camped on the other side of the lake, in a small site. We had returned after a day at the resort, much like we will tonight. In the darkness we attempted cooking a late dinner but drank more than we ate.

He and I talked about too much to remember. How we liked our schools, events from the weeks before, who was attempting to coerce who into naked romps where and what we we’d do the rest of the week.

I picked up my head and turned to the other side, away from the sun. I’m drooling slightly.

There’s a splash from the pier and then the sound of someone swimming toward the raft. I hear my friend yell to someone else from the shore. He’s playing catch with the friend of his whose family owns the house up the hill. Who else would be … ?

My heart, just a moment ago silent, presses against my ribs, trying to get out with each resounding thump. The raft pitches as she steps up the rungs of the ladder.

A few drops of water drop on my shoulder. All my energy traced up my neck and to my eyelids, holding them shut against every impulse to watch her ease herself to the carpet. I can feel her just feet away, the raft settling back on the waves after a moment.

After a couple days, I open one eye, slowly and only slightly so she wouldn’t notice. She’s on her back, eyes closed, with her head resting on the palms of her hands and elbows just slightly off the green faux-grass. The water glistens, beading on her stomach.

Her skin is the color and texture of a well-stirred cup of coffee with extra cream. My eye follows the outline of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs and down her calves. When the come back to her thick lips, I burst into flames, realizing she’s watching.

How’s it going? I fumble. She, already smiling, lets out an audible snicker but is clearly unfazed by my gawking. In fact, she returns the optical accosting.

The conversation progresses, questions on both sides and some more laughs. She’s younger by a couple years but smart and lively. I can’t help glancing at her midriff as she turns toward me, rolls over or adjusts her position. The flexing and tightening is intoxicating.

She dives back in awhile later, and I turn back to my resting. Thoughts of her in various stages are pushed out of my mind by the utter stillness. There are no advertisements, massive man-made structures or flickering televisions.

The raft bucks and sways with small waves and I soak in the full magnitude of nature. In the real world I drown in images, haste and stress. Here I just float.

Just one more week and this will all be over.

That’s all I’m hearing. Sure, the election will be over and all will be right in the world. Maybe there’s a black guy behind the desk or a near-dead shell of what was never a maverick with his shaky fingers above the nuclear codes.

Whatever the case, does everyone think it’s going to just go away? If the old one’s elected democracy will be exposed as a sham. Those that are so passionate now will deflate and slink back to their Wiis and blogs. If the other wins, media will scrutinize his every move. His bills will be picked apart, eroded and rendered impotent.

The impressive rage, built up over more than a year of campaigning, pointing fingers and shifting blame, will not dissipate so quickly. Wednesday will not come with parades and hugs. Those that favored the opponent will remain firm in their beliefs, will still know they are right.

There’s a global recession coming, sparked by an ideology built on ever-expanding resources that are already drying up. Here, the nation’s poor are finally buckling under the disproportionate weight of the richest one percent.

Our markets are built on a flawed theory, one that was formulated and implemented when resources were infinite. It’s based on informed consumers that don’t have information and resources already drying up. Business and government cling to regression in a time that cannot afford anything but progress.

Things will fall. Not now, maybe not while I’m still alive, but eventually. Unless we change. Not our President, not our electorate, not our corporations, but the collective we. It is we that have to change ourselves.

Whether man-made, cyclical or proof God is bored with his pathetic experiment, climate change will have grave effects. Already we’re extracting more than the earth can provide. Our business sector, so powerful, flexible and advanced, opposes any real change, green-washing their message to save money, still thinking short-term.

Our nation, our communities and our conceptions need to change. We need innovation, ingenuity and transformation more now than ever. We, for the first time in our history, have ready access to global communication and we react by trying to limit bandwidth so those providing the pipes can glean more profit.

All people can talk about is one election in one nation. Short-sightedness got us here and will lead us further into desolation. My optimism waned and failed long ago but I hope to regain something resembling it. The ideas are already out there.

A book written fifteen years ago lists thoughtful tax incentive programs that encourage conservation over extraction. It uses a metaphor of ecological maturation to demonstrate positive restrictions and allowances that would regulate and expand the markets while decreasing our societal footprint.

I don’t have the hopefulness to believe it’ll happen. Too many are oblivious or ignorant to the struggles we face, some willfully so. Too many with too much have vested interest in indefinite continuation while too few with too little pay the price.

But, there’s nothing to worry about. Because in just one more week, this will all be over.