11/23/06 - Untimely Meditation

Finally back from New York City now in my warm bed, the smartest puppy is sleeping next to me. That place is the embodiment of the slap in the face that brings you back to your senses, if not leaving you somewhat stunned and on your toes...

.. Alexia said it has a habit of amplifying your flaws and reflecting them back to you in full force, but I don't completely agree with her- the amplification, yes- of just flaws? I'm not sure.

NYC = amplification.

That I can roll with.

I've comeback. And I'm ready to go, really. I can't fucking wait. Stepping out of Alexia's cold apartment in Brooklyn, wet feet on the cobblestone and railroad tracks of years past that I don't have a concept of, I'm walking briskly toward the F Stop on York Street, but it's not because the sleet kissing my face makes me uncomfortable.

I walk without an umbrella, and the wind-off-the-water is cold on my face, and it really starts to rain and I welcome it, it wakes me up, these quiet rain-kisses on my face.

Alexia gave me a pair of gloves and I bought myself a scarf just like my old favorite that John bought me in NYC six years ago, that I'd lost in NYC exactly a year ago, drunkenly while hanging out with Nick. I bought it from the same MoMA design store John had bought it in, for the same price. Only this time it was all mine. All mine, and only laced with enough fond memory to make it mean something more to me.

This was protection enough from the elements. I felt strong, even in spite of being exhausted. Strong in spite of weakness, in spite of flaw. Thank you thank you, New York. Thank you thank you, every person and place that reminds me when I forget.

Right before I left Maryanne called, a friend from Maui. I'd been packing up my things and the phone rang, and she told me she was at the airport in san francisco, waiting to board a plane to mexico, and that she had opened her travel journal and found a message I had written to her on her last day in Maui.

I wish I could quote it word for word, but I can't really remember. I wrote it in her journal, for her, and not for my own record. Regardless, it came back to me at the perfect moment. In fact, that's what the message was about. Keeping the Perfect Moment with you everywhere your feet take steps.

Standing there in my room I listened to her reflect my own words of wisdom- rolled off the tongue of a person wiser than I (at that moment), I listened to her quote teary-eyed and then walked out the door smiling at the magnificence of the Perfect Everymoment, and the everyday Christmas of opening presence as our lives unfold.

On the train I was watching the raindrops race across the window in a half-sleep and a few words from saul williams echoed in my ears gifted to me by the random iPod gods. I really loved it, hadn't ever really 'heard' it before and he spoke with urgency, and with passion and with a hint of panic. The words from Saul Williams's 'Untimely Meditation':

The fiery sun of my passions evaporates the love lakes of my soul

clouds my thoughts and rains you into existence as i take flight on

bolts of lighting claiming chaos as my concubine and you as my me i of

the storm you of the sea we of the moon land of the free what have i

done to deserve this? am i happy? happiness is a mediocre sin set for

a middle-class existence i see through smiles and smell truth in the

distance beyond one dimensional smiles and laughter lies are hereafter

where tears echo laughter you..d have to do math to divide a smile by a

tear times fear equals mere truth. i simply delve in the air and if that..s

the case, all i have to breath and all else will follow, that..s why drums

are hollow, and i like drums drums are good but i cant think straight i

lack the attention span to meditate my attention spans galaxies here

and now are immense seconds are secular, moments are mine, self is

illusion, music..s divine. noosed by the strings of jimmy..s guitar i swing

purple hazed pendulum hypnotizing the part of i that never dies, look

into my eyes are the windows of the soul. it..s fried chicken collies and

cornbread, its corn milk flour sour cream eggs and oil. its the stolen

blood of the earth, used to make cars run and kill the fish. who me? i

play scales. the scales of dead fish of oil slicked seas my sister blows

wind through the hollows of fallen tress and we are the echoes of

eternity, echoes of eternity, echoes of eternity maybe you heard of us,

we do rebirths, revokes and resurrections we threw basement parties in

pyramids, i left my tag on the wall, the beats would echo of the stone

and solidify into the form of light bulbs, destined to light of the heads

of future generations they..re releasing it up in the form of ohm. Maybe

you heard of us. If not then you must be trying to hear us, in such

cases we can..t be heard we remain in the darkness unseen, in the

center of unpeeled bananas we exist uncolored by perception, clothed

to the naked eye, five senses cannot sense the fact of our existence

and that's the only fact, in fact there are no facts, fax me a fact and i..ll

telegram i..ll hologram i..ll telephone the son of man and tell him he is

done. leave a message on his answering machine telling him there are

none. god and i are one. times moon times star times sun, the factor is

me, you remember me, i slung amethyst rocks on saturn blocks ..til i

got caught up by earthling cops. they wanted me for their army or

whatever. picture me, i swirl like the wind tempting tomorrow to be

today, tiptoing the fine line between everything and everything else. i

am simply saturn swirling sevenths through sooth the sole living air of

air and I, and, and all else follows. reverberating the space inside of

drum hollows. package and bottles and chips and tomorrow then sold

to the highest nigga. i swing to the tallest tree, lynched by the lowest

branches of me, praying that my physical will set me free cause i..m

afraid that all else is vanity mere language is profanity, i..d rather hum

or have my soul tattooed to my tongue and let the scriptures be sung

in gibberish as words be simple fish in my soulquarium. and intellect

can..t swim so i stopped combing my mind so my thoughts could lock.

i..m tired of trying to understand. perceptions are mangled matted and

knotted anyway. life is more than what meet the eye and I, so elevate I

to the third and even that shit seems absurb and your thoughts leave

you third (eye)solated. no man is an island but i often feel alone, so i

find peace through OM.