His Eyes Were Roadmaps

His eyes were roadmaps, nearly dripping blood. Why Talcott Parsons? I don’t recall. Just a major player in the sociology game, but why were we talking of it? He brought it up, I’m sure. An observation about the conceptions, the weltanschauung of this segment of social science. Parson’s thesis, so he opined, is that “basically everything is pretty much the way it seems.” Yes, I readily agreed, this is the way of Parson’s in particular and sociology in general. Such is the profundity afforded by massive ingestion of marijuana. Still, even straight, I might not disagree. Forty some years have gone by since that conversation. Where is he now, I wonder. Were he here in southwestern New Mexico with me, I imagine him scaling the 20-foot stalk of the tallest century plant atop our home’s hill, sucking the sweet nectar from its flowering pods, fueling a journey skyward. Soaring above the Gila, scaring the brilliant feathers off startled hummingbirds and confounding the hawk or the golden eagle that frequent the neighborhood. Perhaps he will connect with Timothy Leary on some astral plane or in misfortune fly like Icarus too close to the sun, only to fall to earth.

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