Sometimes we all wish we were somewhere else. Some more than others but its thought about at least once. It's the kind of thought that comes late on a Friday night with nothing to do. You know, the thought where you desperately wish you were somewhere else. Because that place is safe, comfortable and full of people you don't know. Fear isn't an issue there because nobody knows you. It's a place where you can start over—the kind where you dream about. It's not Utopia, because that's a waste of a dream, its just not here.
Its Eleven o'clock and he's bored. Driving down Main Street, he sees groups of people walking and waiting. Walking to go somewhere important and waiting to cross the street to get there. Everyone waits and walks these days. They wait for somewhere safe; they walk to get there. But of course, if they're not walking they're driving, but either way, they still have to wait. Wait for pedestrians; wait for red lights; wait for police.
Driving. Walking. Waiting.
He can't help but watch each person wait and walk (and drive). Each one hoping for something: children, success, money, safety, salvation. Some walk to keep warm; they are ones that live on the street. Some walk to go to a club; they are the ones that live in houses. Still, some just simply wait; they are the ones that hope the most. They're hoping for salvation to come, to bring themselves out of the sticky mess they put themselves in. At least that's what he thinks they're doing as drives and drinks his coffee.
Coffee at eleven is never a good idea, and he knows it. Why in the world would he need coffee so late? To function of course, but it's a poor idea to begin to function at eleven. Each drink reminds him that that is another hour of being awake, which in turn reminds him of his parents. Only grown ups worry about staying up late. And sleeping until 1.30 in the afternoon is hardly a thing a "grown-up" would do. Still, he buys and drinks his affine. Drinking and driving; sober and wishing. Main Street couldn't be so lonely and driving eastward was supposed to be better. If only John could see him now. We hope and long, we dream and strive and we can't see beyond ourselves. Where is the justice, we pray—right, we brought this upon ourselves. How else would this be poetic if it wasn't us that brought it upon ourselves.
That's how it always is. We want justice, but we fail to look within ourselves to see if we did the very thing we cry out for. Like Cain, we ignore our brother/sister crying. We ask, am I his keeper? When we actually are. Our cries become ambiguous to keep outsiders away and insiders further. Like I said, if only John could see me know. Obviously, I'm driving on Main Street, unable to speak, unable to find rhythm. I've heard sin described as chaos or disorder, and I think I like that a lot better. Not because its different, but because its not religious. Its not religious to seek something, its human. And thinking about sin makes me feel uncomfortable and doesn't describe me driving down Main Street alone at eleven. Its not sinful to drive downtown alone, its chaotic—people just don't do that, unless that is, there's something on their mind.
Its chaotic and disorderly to drink caffeine at eleven, it's not sinful. And when I pray it's certainly not sinful to beg for protection against myself, its human. And I have to believe that people waiting and walking and driving are looking for something. Obviously, I'm not going to be presumptuous, but if I'm looking, why can't they? And if looking is simply the start of something; than it is also the beginning of life or something like it. After all it was God who asked where Adam and Eve were. If I brought this upon myself, if I am driving alone at eleven with a cup of coffee in my hand, does it mean something more than what I am already reflecting about? Or is that something half way across town better for me. This chaos within myself may be the only thing that stops me from being complete—whatever completeness is.
John didn't do a very good job, and neither did I; driving east isn't much better than riding westward, and 2009 has to get better than it is now.

Daniel