“Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.” ~ Yoko Ono
“October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or shutting a book, did not end the tale. Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: “It is simply a matter,” he explained to April, “of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content.” ~ Neil Gaiman
It is yellow flower season now. I went for a long drive yesterday. The prevailing feature of a 2.5 hour day trip was of course the yellow flowers. Yes, it is the time of the band in the spectrum of Summer when the sunflowers rule, resplendent, of course, and ubiquitous. There is yellow nearly everywhere you look. As eager as I am for more formal seasonal markers I am not actually daft enough to expect the aspen forests on the mountains to go all yellow and stuff this soon. Not this soon. This is some strange morph, some remnant of collective deep running memory of late August in the Florida Keys, which would be right at the beginning of the really really really hot season. The hot season up here in the high desert in Nuevo Mexico del Norte ain’t so hot after all, in comparison, via my own reactions to the weather, but it does get hot enough for that morph of a memory to whine a deep one about how the Sun is too bright and enough already. Okay, enough. This too shall pass. The afternoon heat has lessened here, because . . . well, let me just say it is what it is, which is another way of saying I’m tired of writing about this weather stuff, and the main point is that in the brilliance of high Summer I find my self emotionally hunkering, so, ummmm, let’s move on to something else, k? I’m feeling a little grouchy this morning. Before I move on I’d like to pat myself on the back for listening to the Muse and choosing the word ‘hunker’ in that particular syntactic location. I checked the thesaurus. It can be read several different ways, in layers, if you will. Or maybe it’s just me? The point is I love working, playing, whatever, with words. I love to write as a result. Yesterday’s trip was needed. That was the sole impetus for doing it in the first place. This valley is huge, wide-open, studded with sleeping volcanos. The layout of the land down here in the southern end of the valley makes for an interesting energy; Rockies to the east and a big crack in the earth to the west. The Rio Grande Gorge is the crack I mentioned. It looks more like a crack to me than it does a crevice born of erosion. I’m not sure about the geological facts, and I’m not going to google it right now. So there. I told you I was grouchy. Now, moving forward. After two consecutive days off it is once again a workday. Anxiety ain’t so bad, so I don’t mind going into Taos, into work today. It should be fun, and I’ll be working alongside my eighteen year old little buddy. She and I evoke synergy at times. Well, it gets the job done. No one will know that I am also carrying my own personal Spring fever with me. There is as much contentment in the feelings as there is excitement. The flow of life energy, refracted and disseminated, focused through habit. The newness, the end of Summer approaches, and I don’t mind. The fever gives me an abiding feeling of newness. And I’ll be danged iffin it doesn’t all feel new at times. The French term for that feeling of it all being new is jamais vu. The state of mind can be considered an indicator of some pathology or other. I’m not sure I agree. What-ev-er. The benefit for me, when everything looks and feels new, is that I can take a memory of almost falling in love and use it to keep my vibes up and perky. I’ve been there numerous times in my life so I have a few memories to work with. It’s funny, but none of my ex-partners left me with that kind of memory. Well, maybe the ex-wife. I had more than a little dazzlement back then, at first, but that may have just been virginity talking. I’ll never know for sure. But I have a specific memory to work with today. That’s the main thing. It’s all that matters this morning. Except for feeding and medicating the cat. The day trip yesterday opened me up quite nicely. Memories of traveling can be used in a similar manner. Full tank of gas, and a few hours to kill, and a mini-grand adventure may ensue. Either Thoreau or Emerson asked “how can you kill time without injuring eternity?”. Dude like you just get into your car and drive dude. Some folks might say you can’t kill time because it ain’t real. But time does make memory possible. Today I will take my good and chosen memory to heart. Heart, not mind. Have a coupla nice chats with pretty women who graciously and spontaneously give me a smile. One secret benefit of chronic depression and anxiety is that they in no way prohibit happiness. They may suggest that it is all hopeless and stuff, but happiness don’t give a fig about hopelessness, other than to use it as an example of what not to do.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.