There’s something about the microphone at Template on a Thursday night. It could be everything. Even just the microphone stand. Shimmering space. Is my shaking, shimmering? Exhaust every drop of sharing, kid, it’s nothing special. The decision to be all there (here) now is the journey. A physical voice, magnified.
Oh my head, so lost in long thoughts here early this morning. Crazy boundless imaginings, they spring from the Thursday night microphone. It’s nice and kind Gary texts me that I’m being missed (in Clairemont), and being missed and reading a poem about Peter and Darla and Shirley (at the microphone) is exactly right, moments of right here now. One misses, one reads. And none of it feels esoteric or any more important than the cat meowing at me on a yesterday walk, or tying a running shoe again and again and again. Or I’m spending 3.25 on a Starbucks coffee, freed within wild generosity, living life. Freedom.
Like if some homeless dude was to call up to me as I pass on the sidewalk and says, “It’s the little things.” How far from the truth would it be for me to say, “I know”? But then again – I know. Like laying down my first bunt in a little league game against the pitcher from the team with the green uniforms who’s wild a lot – I’d be so devoted to that moment alone. I was. Which brings to mind the T. Rex song, “I’m a jeepster for your love”, which I’ve never understood but have always been there dancing with.
Yeah, my mind is like a condor’s wings this morning. Thermal, and gooey with pitch from that last pine tree respite. Like the huge crush I’ve had all along on the lead singer for The Bangles, Susanna, who I actually got to meet on a Sunday afternoon in a record store in Portland, Oregon, along with the band member sisters – drummer and lead guitar – and I’m wondering if she (Susanna) ever gave me a thought all these years since then? Or have the people I served pizza to in Venice Beach, CA? Or that wild pitcher with the green uniform in little league? Where the ball field was close enough that I could walk straight down High Street from my parents house. Or ride my bike. I can’t remember where I left my bike during the games. Could I see it from the bench? Most of us didn’t have locks back then.
And to think of all the locks since.