Echoes

One of my favorite places in the world. A no man's land between dimensions. The homeless bump against aging money waiting for the play to start. Still dirty and undecided. Just enough of the unhinged to remind me of where I came from. Shouts from cars. Music blaring from god knows where. Moon shouts from around the tables. Feral sounds that make sense to the bottom body only, leaving the rest of find another way.

On Drinking...Epiphany 204

"And, indeed, I believe many folks drink not out of sadness, nor in celebration. And people think they get it - step away from it all, look at it like a timeline, the whole of your life like a parade, the end of the film, 8 1/2. 

No. 

I believe many drink to transport themselves right to the end. At that last station, looking back on it in proper perspective, with the beginning nothing more than a pinprick and the end huge and capable of finishing it, should they wish to to stop right then and there."

Ah Dreams

Oh, hi. I'm just roasting coffee this morning, listening to electronic ambient music. Yes, again. I'm also remembering my dream from last night. Huh? Well, it involved me as a wealthy businessman who is contracting with an elderly Japanese couple to make exquisite pieces of pottery. I'm making all kinds of money off of them, while exhibiting what I believe to be genuine kindness. At some point of the story (It was very much a full-length feature film) they tell me the story of a very special piece of pottery that can be thrown. It is made rarely and shared even more so. It is a piece that is made to hold dreams, plans, and hopes. I remember likening it to the gift of a Montblanc fountain pen, but more spiritual (some say one should never purchase a Montblanc for him/herself but it should be given/received out of admiration or as a reward). The story they tell doesn't sound like much to me, and life goes on as usual. Later on, something poignant happens to me, and I am stopped in my tracks. Everything I know is destroyed, and I am laid bare before myself and before the world. I return to the couple, who now have much more money than I do. I ask them to create that special piece on commission, now fully understanding its importance and meaning. Reluctantly, they create it, and it is sublime. The piece is presented to me with full pomp and circumstance. I take what money I have left and pay them for the immaculate vessel. Holding it in my hands for a full 10 seconds to admire it, I then hand it back to them. "This is for you. Thank you." is all I say before turning to leave. It is at this point that I awoke, breathlessly sobbing.

All morning, I have been trying to recall what event caused me to change.

Some dream music for your own confusing slumber.

The Other Coat

Out. Flick. Slit. Back.

Once in a while, that is to say, over the course of years, you find yourself, the other part. But long before you find it, you will be it. You will have been it for a while. I wish I could say it was imperceptible, but it isn't. You noticed it, but, like the guy on the corner with the cardboard sign, you told yourself you didn't noticed, and kept driving. Something clicked like bone against bone. Maybe you winced. Maybe you said it was something else.

Out. Flick. Slit. Back.

You are comfortable in your clothes. I mean, you were. You remember when you were. They hung like your chosen thoughts and opinions, and they depicted what you were. And it all fit in the scheme of things, your life, your friends and aspirations.
Then, like a knife from the dark, things change. Pretend it isn't happening. Just a side road. Just a detour on the way to the dream. Side tracked economy. What you laughed you would never do. But life laughs and sometimes not with you.

Out. Flick. Slit. Back.

It's up to you now, and there is no Deus and no ex Machina. There is just you, on your knees before the bottom line, taking stock of where you were, where you want to be, and the time between that takes its sweet, bloody time without you. But when you move forward, this time, it will be all you, the strength in your legs propelling you. And when you are where you want to be, you will have no one to blame but yourself. So grab your coat, the other one. Get to work on the present. Sneak peeks, when no one is looking, at the future.

 

Thanks

It's 11:00 a.m., and I am sitting in my office watching the snow slowly turn the Box Elders into an Ansel Adams photo. The visual noise usually emitted by the billion things in the backyard are hushed by the slow coating of the presence of all colors as one. Winter in Minnesota. After 19 years, it still doesn't get old, while my joints increasingly show me the difference between us.

Holidays have a tendency to make us stop and look both forward and back, allowing us to assess our place and how it differs from what it took to get us here and where in the hell we might be headed. We're a little heavier than we realized, perhaps, or maybe there are a few more lines around the eyes. Maybe your interests have changed. When did you stop really caring about what that band is doing? I used to go to readings. When did that stop? When did I start caring about that status report at work, that place I swore would never get all of me? For me, it all comes in cycles, seasonlike, when we toggle between head down in the trenches and then up again to view the landscape when the time is right.

It is the day before Thanksgiving, and I sit here and try to be grateful for it all, because that's what it took to get me here. Pain, pleasure, hope, despair. It is all part of the whole. Right now, I'm enjoying some peace and calm. Later, that will not be the case. I will take each part as it comes, as we all do. Let us just accept it as a part and not try to avoid the challenging parts ("When going through hell, don't stop." ~ Winston Churchill). Winter always feels like work time to me, when the flourish of summer is removed and put away, and stark practicality takes the fore. For all of this, I will try to remain conscious of the fact that I am fortunate. I am alive.

We shall see how long I can retain this perspective. It is the day before Thanksgiving, and I work closing shift at a popular grocery store. My mantra? Don't stop.

Some music for the beauty outside. Enjoy.

Allowing Space

 

 

In the predawn hours I watch the sky, the small distant suns, of Orion and Canis Major shining above the southern horizon. I can easily imagine a planet among them on the surface of which someone is standing alone in a clearing trying to teach himself to whistle.                                        

                                                                                                                          - from River Notes by Barry Lopez

 

 

I don't know the names of the constellations, but can picture swords and their heroes, helmets and victory as clearly as I know my son will dream them. I'm at the river again. To the right the Mississippi and the Minnesota combine their strength and move forward past me. The current is hypnotic, the lapping waves a reminder of change. To the left it curves to the right and disappears. It is a place to come where no one cares what I sound like. I practice curling my lips and tongue, trying to convince the body I already know how. To make a noise, soft but true, one day becoming music, is the point of it all. If I am getting closer it is because I have learned the important thing - that I am to learn it. Children understand. Takes longer for some of us.

 

I looked up this morning and saw the last of the night fade into dawn. A poem ran through my head then out and into the woods. And on that star, I thought, someone is whistling a beautiful song, and the people who hear it are smiling.
 

Not Me....You

Hello. My name is Michael. How are you?

I checked my blog today, and I saw you. All 47 of you. I have 47 followers. I have 47 followers, and I realized I don't know you at all. Isn't that strange? You are kind enough to follow my strange writing, and yet you remain faceless, nameless folk.

So today, after all this time, I invite you to chime in. Comment on this post and let me know you

a) really exist
b) pay attention to my posts
c) really exist

In addition, I want to let you know that I have another blog where I post all the work of mine that ends up getting published. I have it separate as a kind of CV. You can find it here.

In further addition, I invite you to find me on Facebook, where I sometimes post my writing as status updates. Find me at "Michael K. Gause." Send me a private message there and let me know you follow this blog. If you want to friend me, I'll accept once I know the context.

Finally, I want to thank you for following my writing for all this time. It means a lot to me, and in so doing, I can tell you that you know me more than many who think they do. Seriously, reach out. Let me know who you are.

Cheers.

P.S. Here is some ambient music for your day.