There are things in life that are quite clearly beyond any rational explanation. Take, as an example, the song that crawls into your head and absolutely refuses to leave. If it were Mozart or Bach it might be excusable, if Beethoven at least reluctantly forgivable, but it is never the great masters. Tonight, it is the ancient song “Lemon Tree,” and there is little worse then Trini Lopez crawling around your head. refusing adamantly to leave. I could live with Peter, Paul, would welcome Mary But this is Trini’s night and I must be thankful Tony Orlando and Barry Manilow took the night off.
Ensconced on the couch, the cat hears a bird singing outside the window. Once, she would have pressed her face against the screen, imagining a great chase. Now she listens, content to let the birds sing into the fading sun.
Much as every person is a Buddha every guitar can play a simple song. Some will lay it badly, some will break a string, some will play with an unspoken regret, but all have the capacity, recognized or not, to create a moment of memory. On this night there are two, both skilled, honed of fine wood, carefully strung, a purity of tone, and you know neither will fail to honor the song they play. But while one shows its mastery, intricacy of notes dancing from the soundhole, while the other sets a gentle rhythm, it is when the other takes up the song, that you realize it is playing it with a depth of soul that you will not soon forget.
From time to time it sneaks back into my mind, and once there is so hard to ignore or dislodge. It begins softly, “I am he, as you are he, as you are me.” It grows ever more present, foreground, “I am the eggman, they are the eggmen,” and all to soon, I become the walrus, but only one chorus and then my egg man is Humpty Dumpty, not he of the nursery rhyme, but the wise one who said “when I use a word it means just what I wish it to mean, neither more nor less,” and I, like Humpty, in that moment am the master of words, and the song fades, but now what is that song you can’t get out of your own mind? Oh, well, goo goo g’joob.