The world at large is rushing, rushing to some big explosion of “look how special I am†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 they’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. “Whish, whoosh.†THAT’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. “Guantamera†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 Dad’s records. I felt something when I heard that song. No, it wasn’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.
