Who’ll Stop the Rain?

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“There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.”  ~  Aldous Huxley

“No man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce, but all should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions, and to build confidence in the creative spirit.”  ~  Ansel Adams

“Some people see the glass half full. Others see it half empty. I see a glass that’s twice as big as it needs to be.”  ~  George Carlin

The highlight of my morning so far has been a video of John Fogerty playing “Who’ll Stop the Rain” with Bruce Springsteen and Robbie Robertson. All geniuses, I admit, but Robbie is the best. My opinion. The guy is not all that well known, but he shines nonetheless. I am remembering playing at a little pub in Key Largo years back. Two nubile young women from upstate New York were there. At one point one of them asked me to play “Who’ll Stop the Rain?”, but I didn’t know the song, and yet, the chord structure was simple, so I launched into it anyway, not sure of the lyrics. But they came. We grew up with this music. It tends to stick. Turns out nearly all of the patrons in the pub also knew the lyrics as well. Well . . .talk about yer spontaneous event. Magick happens. The scene was magickal! But wait . . . that’s not all. We’re not done with the scene yet, k? Don’t rush me. Thanks, yer a pal. Somewhere in the performance one of the young women from upstate New York stepped up beside me and did one of those “ggnowwwwww” tiger sounds, like “yum yum eat em up”. I was flattered, of course. Young fella. Landscaper, tree trimmer. Golden from working under the blazing Caribbean sun, which bleached out my hair. And, yes, muscles; lean, form golden muscles; rippling as they worked the little Gibson LG, 3/4 size mahogany-faced steel string. I ain’t braggin here. Life has it’s sweet moments. That’s all. Treasure them. That’s all I’m sayin. In case y’all are wondering: no, I didn’t take her home, k? Maybe I shoulda. Now, moving forward. There’s a late April snow coming up within the next 24 hours. To that good news I say . . . as Al Pacino liked to say repeatedly in “Scent of a Woman” . . . huuuwaaa. That’s just how I feel. My feelings are running strong; overt waves of joy, rising endogenously from my heart. That’s happening today. Here I sit with my inflatable neck traction device around my neck. Rosie the cat is on the floor, with the space heater humming away, even though it’s pretty warm in here anyway, but she loves the heater, so I do it for her . . .  anyway. Practicality comes in many forms. I am well aware that the source of my Key Largo memory is an encounter I had a coupla days ago. I’ve known the woman almost since I arrived in Taos, some 22.5 years ago. She was 21, a new arrival in town; blond, blue eyes, pretty as can be. And in a convertible as well! We’ve seen each other numerous time through the years; meetings a few months even years apart. We’ve always been strong happy to see each other again. Well, she came into the store while I was working the other day. Smiles, of course. Strongly happy again. At one point, as she stood before me as I rang up her merchandise, we spontaneously locked eyes. The gaze lingered, wordless. The rush I experienced was off the charts; not sexual though that was in the mix. This was one of them namaste moments; two souls using the eyes to see the world, to verify that intersubjectivity is alive and well in this cosmic hologram we call reality. What I’m sayin is that reality is really really big; much bigger than we know. I hope to see the woman again. Yeh, she has aged really really well. But, wait! Intersubjectivity?! Just look it up, k? I gotta take a shower and meander on into Taos to go to work.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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