A Dearth of Funk

Once again beneath my heels I feel Rocinante’s ribs. I take to the road with my shield held high.” From Che Guevara’s final letter to his parents.
During my brief confinement following the surgery of the back, my mind voyaged afar. I thought of Miguel de Cervantes penning Don Quixote while imprisoned in a Seville jail. There, Cervantes battled doldrums by confining his altered ego Quixote within chivalric madness and silly armor.

Bedridden, I fought battles and built castles in my mind. Descending into a momentary funkiness, I even donned a threadbare bathrobe that Sergio would find amusing. To battle this unseemly inactivity, I allowed my stubbling to flourish into a valiant neo-beard (or “pudding trap” as Greg Oden calls it).

It has served me well.

But now I face the future with relief from my back and a dearth of funk in my heart. For to be otherwise would prove as false to my Mallorcan heritage as this youth’s stubble is to his face. ¡Ad astra!

Rudy foto by Ben Golliver of BlazersEdge.

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