The world at large is rushing, rushing to some big explosion of â€œlook how special I amâ€ which will result in injuries; topsy-turvyness, mayhem, withholding medication, mandatory family hour. Take your pick of awfulness. My aim with my words is to aid and abet a full retreat into the safe pillowy cocoon of words and feelings. MY feelings. My FEELINGS.
You got questions? Look to the trees; they have the answers, babe. Yah, I KNOW theyâ€™re pretty damn quiet 90% of the time. But just wait for a high wind. Those easterly Grand Rapids Winds. The kinds of winds that come howling through these parts. â€œWhish, whoosh.â€ THATâ€™S when the trees speak up, with their creaking and sighing and swaying.
In lieu of said trees, I will advance. Near as I can say, it all started with a record. â€œGuantameraâ€ by The Sandpipers. Or maybe it was Pete Seeger singing it. I heard it somewhere as a little boy, maybe in the car, or on one of Dadâ€™s records. I felt something when I heard that song. No, it wasnâ€™t the dampness of my diaper. Nor was it my impacted sinuses. I FELT SOMETHING, a connection to the cosmic – sad, happy – all at once. And thus a beginning, a searching, that has no end. Until I get a job.
Tune in next time, folks.