So you decide to do this during an epidemic, a pandemic or some sort of “demic”. The point is, your timing has always been off.

The rest of the world is hoarding toilet paper and you’re getting on a plane with what equates to your entire world and waiting to touch down on a piece of cooled lava isolated in the pacific.

But you’re on the clock. You’ll punch out in fifty years or maybe tomorrow. Pandemic or no, your life has to go on because of your fear that it won’t.

But there is this incessant nagging of guilt. One that you constantly weigh to see if it has any merit. One that wakes you up at 3:00 am with a start, ensuring a sleepless night of ceiling watching. The cliche “Live your life to the fullest” comes with a heavy weight on the conscious. Live it to the fullest is very Buddhist. Very in the moment. But it does require stealing from the future.

Or maybe you were just raised to be part of the machine and any deviation from that predetermined course causes a glitch in the internal system. You can’t rewire your brain quick enough to accept the path you chose to take. Self preservation on what’s worked for society so far will cause a constant urge to jump back to the safety net. You’re treading in uncharted waters, as do all of us that made the jump. We are light years from the time when pure freedom of one’s time was the norm. There’s no manual for reverting back to a simpler way of living. We may self enslave through fear of parting with the tribe, but we are slaves regardless. Walking against the current can be a harder path to choose and terrifying if you are pulled under, but there’s no turning back now.

I get in the field and it all clears up, or at least is set aside temporarily as success is going to require all concentration in the present moment. The animals I chase can care less about my internal battles, their only thought is to survive, not to ponder the inner workings of man’s mind.

Concentration can be a temporary cure for self-doubt. The lava rock shifts beneath my feet reminding me that priority number one is to not eat shit and snap a leg. Priority number two is to get some meat in the fridge for the family. Hysteria has left the grocery stores empty. I say an internal thank you to my father for raising me to be a self-sufficient man. Or in other words, raising me to be a hunter.

The boiling clouds roll in wrapping around every surface area like a wet blanket. I start to soak through but love the feeling of a warm rain coating me. It reminds me that comfort is a luxury and something that I’ve become too accustomed to.

The sheep are making their way in my general direction and I cut an angle to intercept them. They want to survive, I want to eat them. We have similar goals, mine just happen to infringe upon theirs.

At the predetermined rendezvous point, I tuck behind an alarmingly sharp chunk of volcanic rock and wait. Let them make the final mistake. Stay patient and wait.

At times that seems to be the wisest course of action to take, no action at all. Wait and see what plays out. Your brain demands constant action, perpetual momentum forward; progress. It needs to be short-circuited from time to time. You need to stand still, let the world come to you.

The plan works and they move forward. They never knew a trap had been sprung on them. Perhaps their momentum has betrayed them. They were too predictable. When you’re the prey that is unacceptable because that is fatal when a predator is around.

I take home what is mine, what is earned. I can’t predict what will happen tomorrow, which way the current of emotion that controls society’s direction will take. I just know that tonight my family will eat. Eat from a practice that has been with us since we could hold a stone.

// Fred Bohm