Take a Peek

03/31/2020 2 By BuddyCushman

I had the crystal clear idea, up in the recliner, that to truly live today – experience a life in all its fullness and richness and joyishness and warmth and acknowledgement and, for sure, tenderness, I have to do my very best and pull back and see under the cover of the day. The what do I usually see, the what is chronically, robotically thought and played with and chewed over unconsciously again and again in my mind. Automatic living, unconscious living, tranced living, and not trance in a mystical, possibly fabulous image, no, trance as in braindead – mind-fucked. I put a spell on you and, well, and maybe you do or did but its me with not enough attention to notice and – here’s the thing – moments so easily cast aside. This is the pulling back the cover of the day.

I can’t even say it’s collective (it is) but acknowledge my own personal brainwash where I expect so and so to say this and that and this is how that (always) makes me feel – it always does you know – and with righteous cause he says – and I will react to the sound of that voice and will react to the gray day and react to Twitter and my own inertia and how much toilet paper is in the house – isn’t worry comforting? – and slip is a good verb and slide might be better….through….along the day. I suppose a case could be made for drooling, and here I say you cannot catch fish when ice fishing until you cut a hole in the ice, and call this a “no shit” statement if you like but I say it is easy to just go on slipping and sliding over the ice, go and get a running start and see how far that takes you, it is a comfortable feeling and who would disagree when I say “Hey, leave me alone, it’s fun.”

Fun as in I do what I do and there is comfort in it. While under my sliding over the ice the most amazing fish, electric blue and gold and sleek and with three eyes and a scrumptiously large vocabulary (bigger than mine) pauses directly underneath where I slide and slip and do my comfortable routine before moving on. And I missed it – I missed that fish – and it will never swim here again and if only I had dug the hole and, think here for the second time, will I do my very best to pull back the cover on and over this Tuesday and attempt – all I can do and enough – to see the day – see it – this day. The one I’ve got. I’m still here. Oxygen in, CO2 out.Creaky knees. The wife.

When I took off the ancient, oh-so-worn-in comfortable walking shoes and replaced them with new, tight, not-stretched-out others, it was a beginning to see Tuesday with new eyes. To help with the noticing. When time is the stream we go a-fishing in.