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On the Road – San Quentin

posted Mar 7, 2013, 10:46 PM by Golden Knight   [ updated Mar 16, 2013, 10:42 AM by Golden Knight ]

Posted in Uncategorized  

By Ricardo De la Torre 


On February 19th, a Tuesday, I set out for Sacramento, and, ultimately, for the Bay. I was on the road, alone; for freedom, liberty, and experience. I wanted a break from the routine of school, it was a “school week” after all. I was to be in Sacramento, Oakland, and San Francisco for the next five days.

Was my journey for the Ultimate Destination or was it about staying in between the white lines of the road? If I aimed for the Ultimate, it was a long and tiring journey, a journey in which I squandered the present for the prospect of a non-existent future. If I maintained myself in between the lines, I was to make sure the lines kept me on the right path, or have wasted my journey in a meaningless direction. I raced across 400 miles toward Sacramento; I drove. I passed the hills, the mountains, the green, the dry, the dead; flying by at sixty-five, seventy, eighty, ninety, 101 miles per hour. On the road I felt an endless present, I felt like nothing existed prior to the moment at hand – this is it, I thought. It felt wonderful moving along the road with endless possibilities in front of me and nothing to look back on.

            I became wrapped up; nice, warm, cozy, and safe in my bubble of reality that served as a car. I was comfortable in between the drawn lines, but then I realized that the lines meant nothing. I crossed them, went from one end to the other of the highway in a steady diagonal cut. I wove in and out of the traffic. The lines did not mean a single thing, they did not exist. The only thing that kept me in those lines, the only thing that gave them their fabricated presence, was the mind; the mind that creates reality, that perceives. The mind that keeps a little set of clean cut rules and things to live by, but reality is greater than the little four door car in between two white lines that I was in.

Regardless of truth, the lines served as manmade walls. They were the law, yet I could cross them at will. They were merely figments of the imagination, yet carried the utmost importance. They served no other purpose, but to keep me moving along their road, in their lines, at their pace. They were the impenetrable walls that came into view as I crossed the Richmond Bridge. I saw the great walls of humankind, perfectly and Divinely constructed, the walls of absolute truth that man lives and dies for across the bridge at San Quentin.