Fools Rush In

“…They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved…who…burn, burn, burn…” Jack Kerouac, On the Road

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and for entertainment threw in a genus of humankind called “fools.” It was confirmed on January 1, 2012 at 9:00 AM on the Sea Island beach.

A horde huddled there in moderately warm winter weather, 55 degrees. The water temperature, a balmy 57. They were there for one reason…because they were offering proof of the created genus of “fools.” They were mad for life!

He hobbled across the wet sands and joined them, clad only in a bathing suit and sweat shirt. His inner voice pleaded, “Go home to your warm comforter.” His fool’s voice overruled. He had a reputation to uphold, an obligation to honor the pledge made to his friends who were already there.

They stood there, their white bodies shivering inside of the fog that enshrouded the scene. It swallowed them whole. The mist was a veil, shading the sun and adding insult to misery to the host of the insane pack. They trembled. They were condemned prisoners of the naked earth, breathing their last breath of the past life while waiting for the executioner’s whistle at 9:00. No one broke ranks.

He stared at the placid water. It looked like hard, gray granite with white moving cracks at the ocean’s edge. His voice of sanity spoke, “Are you also a fool? Are you really going to plunge into these frigid waters? Think of your heart!” Second thoughts of doubt stirred in his unstable mind. He squirmed.

The fool’s voice answered, “Too late. Can’t back out now. The reputation, the reputation.” It won again. The end was near, 8:57. Am I really a fool? He pondered the question.

Fools are pioneers. They thrive on the extremities of transcendent frontiers. They eclipse the creeping decay of the Convenient, the tedium of the Conventional and the comfort of Compromise. Insatiable is their lust for life.

Fools need little encouragement to do rash things. New Year’s Day helps some over the threshold. The remnants of the prior Eve’s bacchanalian celebration lingered in their eyes. A strange odor wafted throughout the crowd. Left-over alcohol, or fear? He couldn’t tell. But he knew that substance abuse sustained boastful pledges. Prayer moved on the lips of many in the throng.

Fools need no excuse for their actions. It’s their nature. They need no crowds for encouragement, except that spectators often juice adrenaline for heightened effect. Fools love attention. Crowds provide affirmation. On this day a head-shaking host of spectators, photographers and the EMT’s ambulance witnessed the pending rush of the Gadarene swine into the arctic abyss.

The voice of sanity pleaded, “Never too late. Feign illness.” The fool’s voice retorted, “Shut up. Get thee behind me, Satan. This is mere child’s play. Love is the biggest fool’s game. Intercede then.” But it was relentless. “People will hold you accountable for your actions. What will they say? Think of your family, the embarrassment.”

The fool’s voice mocked it, “You’re an idiot! Life exists on the Margins of adventure, on the edge of the Bottomless Pit, on wrestling with nature at its worst, and winning. Go home, you loser, crawl back under your comforter. Life has nothing to offer you.” It crept home in shame.

His watch read 8:59:30. Behind him people whispered, “Why do fools do these things?” He had 30 seconds to contemplate the question which was so normal to some, and so foreign to others…the eternal, unanswered question of “Why?” He knew, wanted to turn around and shout, “Because we are mad to live, to burn, burn, burn with new life.” Words without sound formed on his tongue. Then the whistle blew. And in a mighty torrent the fools rushed in!

Screams of ecstasy, of pain, of agony pierced the silent shore as the herd in a swarm plunged into the glacial sea. The ocean churned, consuming the white bodies of last year’s death. Resurrected red bodies emerged, burning with a brand new birth.

And there’s the answer to the question of “Why,” he thought, as he dragged his freezing body from the defeated frosty waters. “Yes!” he shouted. His arms rose in victory, welcoming the New Year and a continuation of his life as a fool.

“Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
They stand upon the threshold of the New.”
Edmund Waller

Happy New Year!


Bud Hearn
January 5, 2012