When I was with my mother last weekend, I read her the poetry that we had written to each other, various friends and relations, and had some discussion. She was a farm girl from Iowa, born in 1930, whose mother was a gifted enough musician to play piano for silent films, given a few chord changes. My mother asked me, "what is it like when you are together personally, when you communicate at this level already?"
What could I say?
I told her that our hearts just beat as one. That we are always there.
I couldn't say much more at the time, so I choose to say it now.
And that when I am with my brother Jim then we just ride out out the traffic jams of Mumbai and we roll on through the night and we never understand fear because we have rolled across the alps at 100 mph with all of our lovers and we always trusted each other to the death because we have put our blood on the stage together and anything other that was just a misunderstanding, or failure of elucidation of vision. There was never, ever, any question of competence from either side.
And that when I am with Johny that we are operating at a lower frequency, one that we can't expect the others to understand, but that we are working on a complete understanding of, that we have not yet found a western explication of.
And that when I am with Peter, that I am always knowing that there are so many things that are well understood by those that came before us, that we both umay understand, but are so damned hard to explain.
And when I am with Tracy, how well I understand that it is not the same thing to be a woman than a man, and that I am not really capable of understanding more than that. Noone ever gave to us what she gave us, and we should be eternally thankful for teaching us so much about herself, and about womanhood.
I would like to think that I learned something from trying to be a rock-and-roll star
3 comments:
Someone might say that your heart is too big, James, but I think that, big as it is, it is just big enough.
And yes, the tuba player is almost always at a lower frequency. Some choose to listen, others not.
Funny, speaks to my mood right now. Was just wondering how bad it's going to be when a friend dies. Got hit on the inside of my elbow by a golf ball this morning. It hurt. And the shock and surprise was something like that time I got hit by a flying egg hurled from a passing Chevy in Providence. After the pain and shock, felt like crying. Must be worse than that.
When I look back on our time together, I sometimes think that we could have been more successful if we had pushed harder, but that it is very likely that at least one of us would have been lost along the way. I'm very glad that we are all still alive, and I usually try to be much more careful now. Sometimes people think I am too cautious, but I don't really bother to try to explain what it's like out on the edge.
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