In my dreams, I have infinte power and a hint of omniscience one minute and am impotent, deaf and dumb the next, and there is no predicting which moment will be which or when a shift will suddenly happen.
I generally stay out of trouble, and when disaster looms, and I am powerless, I can awaken, reset the projector and try again, although I do have a nagging fear that one night I won’t be able to awaken and I will fall fatal victim to the disaster offered up by my own darkest fears
The cat ignored him totally this morning. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if she could have told time. It was surprising, and for him it was painful. He loved the cat, and he thought the cat loved him. Once he thought he saw her sneer but he knew cats did not do that. But she looked away, if she had even looked at him in that moment. But to not even acknowledge his presence, to thank him for the food, that hurt. The cat hid her smile, knowing even Pavlov would be pleased with how well her training of the human was going. He would be wrapped around her paw before he knew it at this pace
Today in odd places, at the most unexpected moments, a child will smile without reason, a young girl will laugh, the young boy will stroke the neck of a wandering cat, and in that place at that moment there will be a simple peace. Only the children will notice this, though it gives lie to those who deem peace impossible. A child knows that it is only preconceptions and attachments that blind adults to the peace that surrounds them.
The sun slowly climbs up onto the mountain’s minaret and announces the call to prayer. The waves in the quiet Lake dip their heads watching trees with the reverence reserved for morning. The loon sits on the altar and intones the sermon, the waves stilling for a moment, then ebbing into the day.
I saw a picture of you today, although I can’t be certain when it was taken, and while I can easily say that you look exactly as I remember you, that is saying nothing really, for moments after I took the picture we said goodbye to each other, intending to meet again, knowing the chances of that were minuscule.
I have returned your picture to a place of safekeeping where, some months or years from now, I will pull it out and remark that you look exactly as I remember you, but more importantly, perhaps, I will be keeping you alive, and in this fraught world, that is something to be appreciated, even if you haven’t the vaguest idea it is happening
Be well dear friend, and if not, be eternal for a bit longer, be you dead or much alive.
The perfect time of day occurs only as the dead of night approaches, that moment when the heart of the city falls almost silent.
In smaller cities this moment is protracted, arising as the moon reaches toward full expression and such as pass for tall buildings settle into sleep.
In the great cities, those that claim never to sleep, the city reverberates, echoing off the endless walls of glass, and silence never fully arrives, so we cling to moments that approximate what we imagine silence sounds like.
He awoke this morning, and was surprised to be there, he said, because when you are ninety, and can’t get around at all, you don’t look forward to tomorrow, for it will simply be a repeat of today when nothing will happen. And it is harder still, he says, because he can’t remember much anymore, so it’s hard to say if today is any different than a week ago or a month ago, though they say he was in the hospital then, but he don’t know why he was there. When I stop for a visit the next day his is surprised to be there, he says as though it was a new thought that just came to him in the moment.
He would be the first to admit that he hated most things avant-garde particularly when it applied to either art or music. It was simply a matter of being in the moment, and he knew you could not be ahead of time for there was only the moment in which you were in.