HERESAY THIRTEEN
Having left the barn door open, a slight breeze was felt in passing, though not a straw was disturbed. Perhaps a reminder of my friend, and that moment shuffled out of pain's way.
Which friend hardly matters, but only that having moved on, not much was asked. That barn on Bear Creek Road, in which tack and harness had been of more interest, and now the dust and sun of that moment are also gone. Yet still here, without having left, is an ambiguity following in its footsteps.
These are garments hung out to dry. Casually, as birds on a fence, all ready to flutter off. Four and twenty blackbirds are flying here to perch in our hackberry tree, crowing wonders they know, speaking of my friend.
It's like playing banjo.
The early days of dope were heady, if I may be allowed. Paranoia was offset by revelation. Buckminster fuller would house us in geodesic domes. Ravi Shankar would lead the hookah crowd, minions of a caterpillar on a tan mushroom. Spiritual seeds were borne on the wind, sprouting at Esalen and landing on kitchen tables where morning glory seeds were crushed to sprinkle on peanut butter toast. Definitely more and more people would drop out of a world changing fast. It was a mandala for sure, the electric blue acid sky leaving visions on beaches right in front of government buildings.
Dope was a bustable offense with jail time for us heads, whereas it has become legal now for lots of straight folks who compare it with booze. That's a laughable argument. My sisters and I, back in high school days, decided to get drunk. We poured glasses of water, drank and laughed, and we actually did get drunk. Which just shows there's so much we can get talked into. “Straight people are dangerous.” “Feed your head.” And then there's saving the world. Religions.
Dope had an unexpected final effect ~ it gave me something to smoke while quitting tobacco. After a few years dope was over. Then came enlightenment, and the legacy of dope disintegrated into the void. Kobun Chino Otogawa had said, “It makes you craaazy!” Not to mention booze. Joy of course, but a shock, too. Even though drugs are the wrong way to go about it, they just get in the way, there is also that everything I thought I knew must be revised. Plus if that's not enough, stir the pot with climate change. It's four and twenty blackbirds, know what I mean?
But of course everything changes. Except some things don't.
My neighbor still gets a pulp wood newspaper, folded as usual, thrown under his truck, and I happened to be raking leaves. So I raked under the truck. “Thanks,” he said, “got to keep up with the news.”
And “Same news” I replied, “different people.”
