Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Sweet Beatles man



Monday mornings I ride the MBTA Commuter Rail into Cambridge for a course I'm taking. The class starts at 9:00am and goes til 10:30am, which is convenient, but the way home is always hurried because if I miss the 11:10 back to Concord I have to wait 'til 2:00 for the next one. The class is about two miles from the station in Porter Square, so to make it back there in time is tight.  This past Monday I was more hurried than usual because class went overtime by several minutes; But I figured if I didn't dabble I could still make it.

After walking briskly for 25 minutes I passed Peets Coffee across the street from the station and knew I was okay on time. Peeking through the window I noticed only two people at the counter so I dashed in for a cup of java. 

Once inside I noticed one of the two at the counter was a guy with down’s syndrome. He was a short fellow, broad and thick, wearing a nearly new Beatles t-shirt.  He had non-resplendent cropped hair, harkening barber shop styles of old or attempts to cut it himself at home and he was wearing very thick eye glasses. He appeared to be about my age and relied on his mother to place their order and help him count the change, which I observed they carried out together with the same attention and pleasure one has when opening birthday cards.

Finished at the counter they moved to a booth a few feet from the condiments buffet. After getting my coffee I proceeded to the buffet for milk and sugar and noticed the fellow looking directly at me through the binocular lenses sitting slightly askew upon his smallish affable face.

This affected me and I had an impulse to approach him.  But with only a few minutes before the train I fought it back. And like a thousand times before I proceeded with ninja skill to speedily affix the stiff plastic cover of my coffee unit, with it's sharp rim, over top the more pliable yet sturdy enough Styrofoam cup without spilling a single drop when something stirred inside and made me pause and I thought 'fuck it, I should talk to this guy' and so I walked over. 

"Hey there." I said, as congenial and familiar as possible.

"Hhhi." He deliberated back in a low voice, raising his eye brows high above his glasses while lowly waving his tubby hand.

"That's a cool shirt, man." I said with more resonance."You like the Beatles?"

"Uuh, yaah, I like vem!" He replied quicker, sliding a smile.

"Who's your favorite one in the band?" I asked, trying hard to be as descriptive and gentle as possible. 
 
"I like Paul McCaraahney" He replied with no apprehension and nearly perfect diction.

"Ah I see you, but know what man, to me it's all about George Harrison" Nodding my head  up and down in large slow movements.

"Yaah, George Harrison too!" He said with timber and an ease that years of friendship can bring. 

"Well that's so cool man!" I said, slinging my pack over a shoulder.  "Hey I gotta make the train now. You have a real nice day, okay?"

"Okay" He affirmed with some sadness "You ave a nigh day choo." a touch of pity in his voice.

As I left Peets and walked over the crosswalk on Mass Ave with its wide paneled lines I imagined the Beatles; Paul, John, George and Ringo on their iconic Abby Road cover walking in line together over the crosswalk to their London studio and was affected at this simple unfolding to a happy and uncomplicated place. What brilliance from a lovely guy adding more texture and light to the day. Thank you, sweet Beatle's man. I know who you are.   The innocent are the finest.  I made the train.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Yes a thousand times.


I have something to ask you?
Can we dance to that song once together? 

Yes, later when the clouds go away,

I have something to tell you.
I miss you and have certain dreams of you. 

What was I then, 
to you, in your dreams? 

You were the ember in the corner place, 
hidden from all of it,
The gentle crackle 
I hear lingering in my slumber.

But summer ended long ago,
what about now?
Do you still miss me
linking your moments? 
 
Yes, you are my Autumn's veil
of kaleidoscope color
soothing the unforgiving pieces. 

Did I consume you
with slow movements 
and Intent ion?
Is this what you drempt?

Yes, I breath you into my bones, 
 and clutch your broken heart in my hands.
I see my face reflecting in your eyes
and I wake weeping the lines 
of your name.

Do you see yourself,  
set apart from the others,
light and strong?  

Yes, in the silence
where you own me, I see it.

Can you hold on?

Yes, you were courage that stood up 
when you were not wrong.

Do I fill you? 

Yes, A thousand times, yes. 



Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Wabi Sabi, broken is beautiful



Naked and assured the alluring diminutive creature was entering the middle of her life and she knew her life, in the land along the ocean shore as well as she knew the beating of her own heart, for she herself had very practically and neatly crafted it years before when she was a young child.  

But that all changed when the Stag, she had only ever imagined, appeared before her. He was standing motionless and alone just a few feet ahead of her, intently watching her every move from behind the tall grass along the edge of the shoreline.

Drawing by Julie Levitina, Philadelphia, PA
He was not a young Stag nor was he old but he was magnificent and mysterious and she could not help but be pulled into him.  His stature was rugged and strong and billowing mist flared from the nostrils on his handsome angular face as she gazed at him.

He had the look of a warrior in expression belying gentle eye's of a slate dreamlike quality.  He had deep lined scares along his muscular and seasoned frame telling authentic tales of his life and land in the green hills of his home very far and different from her country of saltwater and sand.  

And she knew he was cunning to have survived so far a journey, encountering certain perils and sacrifice just to find her, his muse, across such a vast and hostile distance with nothing in it for himself, but all, just to find her.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.  It made her shake to think of it and she felt she needed to cry.  She knew she would weep horribly.

The Stag gazed upon the lovely petite figure before him, her golden skin whispered to him like a tuscan seduction.  Her shinny black hair was thick and danced about in the wind like a dragonfly.  She had delicate rose bud lips around a warm smile and had elegant thin arms with dainty warm hands that she would soon use on him. 

She was nothing he had seen or known before, but he had imagined her and recognized he needed her. And he could not help but be pulled into her and was mesmerized by her slow yet deliberate movement toward him, treading as lightly as possible on the sand so as not to leave footprints. 

When her bare body got close enough the Stag felt her touch into his flank and he lowered himself in order that the soul mate he'd longed for, now beside him, might press all of herself upon him.  And then she pressed upon him.  She pressed upon him for hours, and for days and days, and weeks, for months and months and years. 

Together in this vignette they found what they had to find.  But then rain came suddenly and she felt she had loved him for a thousand years and would yield everything to be his one and only, if ...or until she couldn't anymore.  And it would surely kill the soulful piece inside her to go so far away and leave the love of her life, and feel the sickness of longing for shoulders she can't hold, ribs she can't touch, lips who's smile she can't see, with his hips unable reach and press against hers, or warm breath she could no longer whisper with,or inhale. And she would no longer feel his beating heart against hers or hear the heat of his soothing voice in her ear, or taste his gentle sweat dripping upon her face.
 
And the Stag, he would go to his knee's to hold on and protect her even after she left, until he couldn't anymore.  She was his life's love, his musing obsession and his inspiration and he died to what they were, and what he was, in order to carry on and be made more beautiful.

In this sea of love and loving, sweet and luscious, intimacy was the greatest loss.  It was intoxicating.


Peace and roll strong.