Well, the blues haven’t really gone away since this morning. Somehow, when you’re down, it’s hard to think and write about non-personal things like politics, religion, science…
On the other hand, I don’t like writing about personal things at all.
So, normally when my head isn’t screwed on quite straight, I try to maintain radio silence and cheer myself up with some distraction like light reading. Sooner or later, the dip will right itself.
Well, I still don’t feel up to non-personal writing. And, I still cherish my privacy too much to serve up a dose of what’s really on my mind. But, I think I will try to distract myself with a different kind of mind candy – instead of light reading, here’s some light writing:
“If you meet the Buddha on the road, killing him is only one option among several. Saul, for instance, just changed his name and kept on truckin’.” This is what the tallish bearded man said to me when I paused by his bench and smiled in a friendly way. My heart went out to him – the beatnik wannabe buried deep inside me saw its pitiful reflection in the beatnik wannabe who grew the hair, carried the battered old guitar, and did his best to mimic the words. These are things that I had pictured myself doing – near enough, but the most I ever really did was carry a copy of Dharma Bums in my back pocket and stand in the Food Not Bombs soup line with the real hobos once or twice.
People like us: me and Bearded Man, we might really be the spiritual descendants of Kerouac, Burroughs, Snyder, and the gang. Minus the talent, that is. We might sleep on the park bench and drink our wine from a paper bag, but, just like the Giants of the ’40s, we know we’ve got a solid middle class working momma & daddy back home. We are real Beatniks just like Kerouac was a real hobo. In other words, only in our imaginations.
So, I figured this out about myself before I grew the facial hair and learned to generate earthy, ethnic sounding, meaningless, mixed metaphors and call it poetry. But it’s always easier to figure out something you aren’t than something you are. I’m no less lost than Bearded Man, just not lost in the same part of the woods as him.
Lost implies the possibility of being found, and I don’t know if that means that we should be encouraged or if it means “lost” is the wrong word.
I smile at Bearded Man again and walk away. A decade from now, raising young families, maybe this day will come to mind, and Bearded Man and I will get some perspective.
Februarys always somehow end up being tough months for me. They sit there, looking short in duration and quiet — from being settled in the bleak mid-winter and all. But that always turns out to be a lot of false advertising, because every damn year, I end up getting overwhelmed with — well, whatever piles up on me during a given February!
This year it’s a load of deadline pressure and too much work (and I’m supposedly unemployed!). I haven’t been able to keep up with the blogs I read and my writing has been anemic as well. I cook things without taking any photos! Ack! It’s exhausting and energy-sapping and …well, there’s nothing to make me jump out of bed in the morning, ready to tackle what the day has in store for me — I just want to hide under the covers and sleep a little longer…
Which is a long way of saying that I sympathize. But February, too, will pass.