Another long week of overtime hours, of me being left to my own designs for extended lengths of time. The latest trash barrel art project is finished, the early garden is in, the housework is caught up, I’m done shooting colored balls at each other on the computer, and I’m more content to sit and groove on the dawning warmth of Spring rather than go our for another walk, and munch on kettle corn with Holly. So I’m drifting a bit between pondering and musing over many a thing, a sort of lonely craft at sea, lulled by the rocking waves of time passing and endless blue skies. Questions keep forming, rolling around in the ol’ brain, lots of digging and delving, and few answers, but some days, I’m not really looking for those, I’m more focused on the long pauses in between the questions.
I’ve been wondering why I follow the news and current events, especially politics, so intently. Sure, I appreciate the information-it satisfies both my thirst for knowledge and my morbid curiosity. I tend to view news with a dash of bleeding heart liberal and a splash of George Carlin, so there’s some balance in my approach to it. Sometimes, though, the news simply enrages me, and if there is a tragedy in there, too, I get a massive overload to my humanity circuit, and I trip a breaker, and have to shut down for a while. I’m not sure if news following provides me with happiness or just gives me something else to do to waste time. Surely, there are more prolific things I could be doing. And too much of current events are downright frightening or plainly negative. They leave me on a search for sunshine in the gloom wherever I can find it.
That leads, randomly, to be sure, to another musing of mine. Do other people find themselves surrounded by negativity and sometimes grow weary of trying to counteract it? Even if I pry myself from the daily onslaught of bad news, I find it can be a challenge to escape the effects of the bad juju and discontent. It hangs in the air, an atmospheric negative ion, and I spend a considerable amount of energy repelling, reversing my magnetic field. I haven’t quite descended into brooding yet, no. I think I’m looking more for a touch of escapism. I feel the ever-present hot breath of seething anger amongst the masses, I feel painful throes from the aching hearts of the suffering. I long for a place that isn’t being crushed by desperation.
On that note, I’ve been wondering why I stay in America. The easy answer is the same as why I stay in my hometown-because of my bond with it. Regardless of what outsiders (and more than a few locals) say about Ambridge, there are fantastic people here. Many care deeply about this town, its sense of heritage, of tradition, of history. It comes with the territory. It’s familiar, it’s sanctuary, my favorite port in any storm. I have weathered out countless catastrophes, personal and global, in this town. I could broaden that to include America, to some extent. My roots are deeply sank. Perhaps too deep. The truth is I know I could find the same elements in other parts of the world, plus many more, surely. I could probably find a place where I could see Joe more, where he only has to toil away at one job, a place I where I could walk quiet country lanes for hours, a place I could have a simple, comfortable home adorned with all my curiosities. Sometimes, I daydream about what it would be like to breathe different air. Perhaps America itself is starting to lose some of its allure, its magic.
This country is being mismanaged badly. When a baseball player tells a fib about lying in court about whether or not he did this or that, there are endless hearings over it, and he faces prison time. When a financial giant steals billions from the people, then blackmails the Treasury into coughing up hundreds of billions more, they get the money, and no one ever even faces a trial on it. Something seems a bit askew. Everyone involved in politics screams at each other, like a schoolyard full of naughty children, saying wretched things and demanding everyone play the game their way. Each side pouts and stomps its feet and holds its breath. No one who makes any sense can get through. And on top of that, we have a bad parent on playground duty. He should learn to discipline with a firmer hand, to be stern instead of trying to be each child’s very best friend. Both sides need to be punished severely, sent to their rooms with sore bottoms and snotty noses from the crying. Really, as a 20 year veteran of parenting, I’m appalled at the state of our government. I do love America, and I love my home, and I love the beauty of it all, but how it’s being run scares me more than it should. I should be able to watch the news, to follow politics, without cringing inside all the time. It should be a sideshow, an occasional distraction. But, if someone doesn’t pay attention to the action behind the scenes, the government gets away with far too much, and has for far too long. I think we should stop voting for all politicians, and just nominate and vote for random good people we all know in our lives. I guess I don’t have an answer for why I stay here. I will ponder it more, and likely do nothing more, because as an artsy type, I excel at procrastination, and often react only when panic is called for.
I’ve been wondering whether I could realistically write my own Bible, purely for entertainment’s sake. I spit out a quick bit of one for a great friend, and, I must say, I enjoyed doing it immensely. Though longer tales have never been my strong point, a Bible is more a collection of really short stories interspersed with moral codes of conduct. I’m pretty sure I could do that. I see I work far better under the pressure of deadlines, even if they are not altogether serious. Said friend issued a “commandment” to pen a creation myth by sundown of one day, and I took it upon myself to be thus commanded. I produced. It was refreshing to be motivated, to be given a true direction, besides my meandering rambles. Maybe this friend could collaborate with me, give me a framework and a deadline for each chapter, and perhaps write it with me. I think after a few thousand years a new Bible may be just what the world needs.
Sometimes, secretly, I think I look forward to senility, not quite the full-blown devastation of Alzheimer’s, or the severity of advanced dementia, but a mild touch of senility, when I forget what era it is and regress to the 1980s, or when no one expects me to take care of everything, remember anything, or change my clothes every day. Until then, I suppose I must continue my valiant quest for answers to vague questions of little import and other mysteries of the universe. I’m sure my reward will be long stretches of time in the Spring sunshine, and the smell of hyacinth on the wind, and all the happy I can feast on. So much to contemplate these days…
Be at peace, my friends,
Tanya
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Friday, April 15, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Joey
As we all get on together in this span of time, an inevitable common bond will occur, and we all must face it in our own way. Individual details are unique, but the stories are all connected. We all lose someone incredibly dear to us. It’s been almost 10 years, and I finally think I’m ready to give to you my personal story of loss. This one is for Joey, a truly magical creation who holds still a piece of my very essence.
He was one of those persons you just cannot label as friend, or mate, or brother, or any other category heading. Joey transcended all that. Somewhere between an identical twin and the best friend you’ve ever had, I would guess is the closest description I can give you. From the very moment we met, our smiles bonded us, fused with such a perfect cosmic symmetry, and we shared from that point on the most profound happy I’ve ever had the honour of feeling. We walked wooded trails together, examining bugs and leaves and birds-Joey had a deep spiritual connection with birds-and talked of all the things that made us what we were. We spent days on end picking through landscaping rocks looking for treasures. Our laughter rang through the streets like church bells on a beautiful spring morning.
Joey was a drummer, and I can say without reservation, the finest drummer I’ve heard. He didn’t just play the drums, much like I don’t just play the guitar. These instruments were our outer projections of what our souls were saying. The music was heartspeak, pure and honest and sweet and entrancing. Joey was the rhythm of my universe, of the universe as a whole. I called him the cosmic drummer-his rhythms were in perfect tune with the workings of the planet, and the movements of the stars and comets and the dust of ancestors. You could feel yourself being lifted right out of your bodily form and dancing in harmony with all of creation. This is no exaggeration for literary purposes. I give you the truth, and that can be verified by many other humans. Joey traveled extensively, walked many a beaten mile, and drummed where he went. His music touched a very wide swath of people.
When I played along with him, I completely lost track of even the basic fact that I was the one playing. It felt like he was there, too, in my hands, not taking the place of my own, not controlling, but sharing the space simultaneously. We played as one. And we smiled. And every time we finished a session, we smiled, and then laughed together, sharing a world that no two others could quite find. We kissed like children do, innocently, with no further motive other than to be sweet. It always left me feeling pure and simple. Joey had a way of calming, of bringing out parts of me just staring to blossom. He gave me peace.
Joey did much gallivanting around the country, so as time went on, our contact was limited to a few times a year as he made his way back home to West Virginia. I went about my daily life and wiled away the hours, as I do. Every now and then, I would get a strong urge to think about Joey and what he was up to. Without fail, and I mean that, he always called within a day’s time.
Here’s where I must pause and break from the story format. As I’m trying to write this, I have to tell you, after all this time has passed, what I remember most clearly is Joey’s voice. The timbre, the tone, the pitch, and the way it made me feel when I heard it on the other end of a phone. It’s the one thing I have struggled with all these years-that when the phone rings now, it will never be him, and that still gets me once in a while. But I have that with me, forever, that voice, and one day, after he departed, when I needed him most, I cried out to him that I just wanted to hear his voice, to know he was still there, and that he was ok, and as he always did in life, he came through for me. I don’t care if it was my own mind creating it, I don’t want to debate the existence of ghosts with anyone. Joey was not an ordinary person, and when he left this world, his energy in some form or other left a permanent imprint here, and that is just a plain fact. He soothed me, and somehow, I’ve managed to make it through these long years since that moment.
Our last road trip together was to Wisconsin to see the White Buffalo, a rather big deal for us spiritual, native types. We drove my Dodge station wagon out there with his Husky and my daughter. It was a beautiful trip, full of the usual magic and smiles and happy. Joey was going to be headed to points west from there, but I had to get back home. For the first time, when we were saying our goodbyes, I cried. I remember telling him when he asked me why I was crying that I didn’t know, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be seeing him for a long time. He gave me a big bear of a hug and told me everything was going to be ok. I chalked it up to motherly concern, and shook it off. As I drove away from the farm, and watched him diminish in the rear view mirror, I just had a passing thought that one day Joey was going to go on a grand adventure…One day…
Some years did go by, and every now and then, I would think of him and he would call. Then one day in October, Joey called me and my dad and invited us to a ceremony in which he was being brought into the folds of a very special group of medicine men, and would be learning from them. It was such a beautiful ceremony. I was pregnant with Holly at the time, and he drummed on my belly and sang to her. It was very cold and I was not feeling well, and we had to call it an early night. There were the smiles-our eyes locked together, our hearts holding each other-the last smiles, as it would turn out.
It had been more than a year since I had heard from him, and even after several thoughts about him, he never called. At the time, my dad still lived in West Virginia, and knew where Joey’s parents lived. One day, we were talking about Joey and how none of us had heard from him. Dad said he would call the house. When Dad rang me back, he told me to sit down and asked me if Joe was nearby. I felt the air escape my lungs, and I knew. Joey was gone, drowned caught in a rip tide off the coast of North Carolina. Just like that. I think I can remember my heart stopping for a few beats. The cosmic drummer was silent, and my heart got wind of it, and missed a step.
I miss the silliest little things. I miss sharing new bands I discover, or new movies I’ve seen. I miss sharing new knowledge I’ve gathered, and new photos of the family. Joey never got to meet Holly, or Joe, and I wish he could have. But mostly, I miss the smiles. I share many smiles with many people, and they all mean something incredibly dear to me. Joey stands in a category all his own, though, in a secret bond like no other. I miss the music we made with the universe, and I missed it so much at first, I did not even play my guitar for a good 3 years solid. It was too painful, and there was no magic to it for me.
But like I said, Joey soothed me, he calmed me and gave me back peace, and then I began playing again. And it was different. Something had been transferred to me that last encounter, and after the intense pain subsided, I could tap into that source. My music has been forever altered, transformed into a new level of spirituality that I did not even know could be found. Whether it comes from the suffering of loss of someone like Joey, whether it comes from the cosmic signature he left behind, or whether it comes directly from the cosmos itself, I know not. It is not my place to know such things, I can only be the vessel to deliver what I am learning from them. In some way or other, Joey gave me the ultimate gift-to express to those who listen the music my heart makes.
This September will mark 10 years. I’m hoping the adventure Joey is on now is full of wonders and excitement. My own adventure holds those things. I hope we find each other out there in the vastness of space, and our remaining energies get to tell fine tales to one another of the glorious things we’ve seen. Sometimes, it’s very important to believe in the concept of eternity, and this is that time for me. Good Journey to you, my spirit brother, my friend, my dear Joey. Thank you for being, and for giving to me happy.
Love and light, all.
Tanya
He was one of those persons you just cannot label as friend, or mate, or brother, or any other category heading. Joey transcended all that. Somewhere between an identical twin and the best friend you’ve ever had, I would guess is the closest description I can give you. From the very moment we met, our smiles bonded us, fused with such a perfect cosmic symmetry, and we shared from that point on the most profound happy I’ve ever had the honour of feeling. We walked wooded trails together, examining bugs and leaves and birds-Joey had a deep spiritual connection with birds-and talked of all the things that made us what we were. We spent days on end picking through landscaping rocks looking for treasures. Our laughter rang through the streets like church bells on a beautiful spring morning.
Joey was a drummer, and I can say without reservation, the finest drummer I’ve heard. He didn’t just play the drums, much like I don’t just play the guitar. These instruments were our outer projections of what our souls were saying. The music was heartspeak, pure and honest and sweet and entrancing. Joey was the rhythm of my universe, of the universe as a whole. I called him the cosmic drummer-his rhythms were in perfect tune with the workings of the planet, and the movements of the stars and comets and the dust of ancestors. You could feel yourself being lifted right out of your bodily form and dancing in harmony with all of creation. This is no exaggeration for literary purposes. I give you the truth, and that can be verified by many other humans. Joey traveled extensively, walked many a beaten mile, and drummed where he went. His music touched a very wide swath of people.
When I played along with him, I completely lost track of even the basic fact that I was the one playing. It felt like he was there, too, in my hands, not taking the place of my own, not controlling, but sharing the space simultaneously. We played as one. And we smiled. And every time we finished a session, we smiled, and then laughed together, sharing a world that no two others could quite find. We kissed like children do, innocently, with no further motive other than to be sweet. It always left me feeling pure and simple. Joey had a way of calming, of bringing out parts of me just staring to blossom. He gave me peace.
Joey did much gallivanting around the country, so as time went on, our contact was limited to a few times a year as he made his way back home to West Virginia. I went about my daily life and wiled away the hours, as I do. Every now and then, I would get a strong urge to think about Joey and what he was up to. Without fail, and I mean that, he always called within a day’s time.
Here’s where I must pause and break from the story format. As I’m trying to write this, I have to tell you, after all this time has passed, what I remember most clearly is Joey’s voice. The timbre, the tone, the pitch, and the way it made me feel when I heard it on the other end of a phone. It’s the one thing I have struggled with all these years-that when the phone rings now, it will never be him, and that still gets me once in a while. But I have that with me, forever, that voice, and one day, after he departed, when I needed him most, I cried out to him that I just wanted to hear his voice, to know he was still there, and that he was ok, and as he always did in life, he came through for me. I don’t care if it was my own mind creating it, I don’t want to debate the existence of ghosts with anyone. Joey was not an ordinary person, and when he left this world, his energy in some form or other left a permanent imprint here, and that is just a plain fact. He soothed me, and somehow, I’ve managed to make it through these long years since that moment.
Our last road trip together was to Wisconsin to see the White Buffalo, a rather big deal for us spiritual, native types. We drove my Dodge station wagon out there with his Husky and my daughter. It was a beautiful trip, full of the usual magic and smiles and happy. Joey was going to be headed to points west from there, but I had to get back home. For the first time, when we were saying our goodbyes, I cried. I remember telling him when he asked me why I was crying that I didn’t know, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be seeing him for a long time. He gave me a big bear of a hug and told me everything was going to be ok. I chalked it up to motherly concern, and shook it off. As I drove away from the farm, and watched him diminish in the rear view mirror, I just had a passing thought that one day Joey was going to go on a grand adventure…One day…
Some years did go by, and every now and then, I would think of him and he would call. Then one day in October, Joey called me and my dad and invited us to a ceremony in which he was being brought into the folds of a very special group of medicine men, and would be learning from them. It was such a beautiful ceremony. I was pregnant with Holly at the time, and he drummed on my belly and sang to her. It was very cold and I was not feeling well, and we had to call it an early night. There were the smiles-our eyes locked together, our hearts holding each other-the last smiles, as it would turn out.
It had been more than a year since I had heard from him, and even after several thoughts about him, he never called. At the time, my dad still lived in West Virginia, and knew where Joey’s parents lived. One day, we were talking about Joey and how none of us had heard from him. Dad said he would call the house. When Dad rang me back, he told me to sit down and asked me if Joe was nearby. I felt the air escape my lungs, and I knew. Joey was gone, drowned caught in a rip tide off the coast of North Carolina. Just like that. I think I can remember my heart stopping for a few beats. The cosmic drummer was silent, and my heart got wind of it, and missed a step.
I miss the silliest little things. I miss sharing new bands I discover, or new movies I’ve seen. I miss sharing new knowledge I’ve gathered, and new photos of the family. Joey never got to meet Holly, or Joe, and I wish he could have. But mostly, I miss the smiles. I share many smiles with many people, and they all mean something incredibly dear to me. Joey stands in a category all his own, though, in a secret bond like no other. I miss the music we made with the universe, and I missed it so much at first, I did not even play my guitar for a good 3 years solid. It was too painful, and there was no magic to it for me.
But like I said, Joey soothed me, he calmed me and gave me back peace, and then I began playing again. And it was different. Something had been transferred to me that last encounter, and after the intense pain subsided, I could tap into that source. My music has been forever altered, transformed into a new level of spirituality that I did not even know could be found. Whether it comes from the suffering of loss of someone like Joey, whether it comes from the cosmic signature he left behind, or whether it comes directly from the cosmos itself, I know not. It is not my place to know such things, I can only be the vessel to deliver what I am learning from them. In some way or other, Joey gave me the ultimate gift-to express to those who listen the music my heart makes.
This September will mark 10 years. I’m hoping the adventure Joey is on now is full of wonders and excitement. My own adventure holds those things. I hope we find each other out there in the vastness of space, and our remaining energies get to tell fine tales to one another of the glorious things we’ve seen. Sometimes, it’s very important to believe in the concept of eternity, and this is that time for me. Good Journey to you, my spirit brother, my friend, my dear Joey. Thank you for being, and for giving to me happy.
Love and light, all.
Tanya
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