How about this weather?
It’s the opening question for any conversation with a stranger. It’s a muggy ninety-degree day and supposed to reach one hundred. There are storms expected later so, I brought my umbrella and a bag to protect my book. On the platform I sat in full sun and squinted to read beyond the reflection in the white pages of my book. Sweat accumulated around the black exterior of my T- a shirt which reads “Raconteur- 1) a person who excels in telling anecdotes, a story-teller.”
Have you ever thought to compare life to the weather? We do it all the time in one way or another- cold as ice, dog days of summer, he snowed me, she came in the room like a hurricane, etc. It’s as unpredictable that’s for sure. The dark gloomy skies before that broadcast- BEWARE, next the storm hits- beats you up, then the sun shines and you’re on top of the world. What I’m fascinated by is our ability to speak to one another, relate similarities, and compare each other by experiences, joys, pain- bonds forged by simple talk. Have you ever had such a wonderful conversation you never wanted to leave? There’s no knowing when or where that will take place, but it does. Sometimes it only takes minutes to realize; you think, “here’s someone I could really talk to, understand, listen to- enjoy.”
I’ve had a couple of moments like that on this tour; people whose stories lit me up. I could talk to a parking meter, have a conversation with a box, see words in the clouds, but my best work comes in the presence of “salt of the earth” people. Ones who get by with a smile on their face, conquer negative forces around them and live to tell about it- appreciate what it is they have. Crippling blows harden you and humble you too. It’s all in your reaction to them, which helps bring you through the FOG,… and then there’s the weather….
Recently, I spoke with a gentleman who over the course of a decade lost his wife. She’d suffered from Cancer. From the time of discovery, it went from bad to worse and ten years later she’d lost her battle. The pain of such a long drawn out death can’t be measured, and there’s no way one can compare unless of course they’d had the same love and suffered the same agony over time. The only way to fight the cynicism of such a traumatic event is hope.
I don’t remember how I was taught to be so blindly optimistic, perhaps it was my experiences regarding mind over matter. The only thing I could say in such a conversation was: Life is a balance- there are good times, and bad times. The only ability to heal through the bad times is to have had enough good ones to look back on- they guide you through. You take Memories for what they are, and you look to the future for the hope of experiencing something like them again. Without hope, you get nowhere.
My parents always lived that Zen like philosophy. They’re rich with experiences, moments they look back on, in their old age. The company of each other keep them moving forward. They’re eighty and eighty-three and married 57 years. A family friend as a teen told me they possessed the secret to life, and I never stopped believing it. It’s a bright and shiny day…. And there’s the weather…
I received an invitation to write a poem for a NYC publisher. My poetry has always been sporadic, but since I’ve started my tour it’s been nil. I’ve been in such a HAZE that I remembered my hearts been buried below my highly active mind. The multiple projects have kept my brain busy and have dominated my functions. The heart has been “on hold”, but this little reminder allowed me to see the need to take time to let THE DUST SETTLE, reopen my chest and rediscover the organ that’s been kicked to the side. Powerful poetry means unison between both mind and heart and lately it’s been an internal tug of war with victory given to the brain.
Excitement starts with a new venture. Persistence is needed to nail down the long-term projects, so Best Bar Wednesday Blog Series- roared like a lion in February and will shortly phase out in July like a lamb. Worn down by the routine. A few wise souls can and do give meaning to the words, especially when they see the suns bright rays through the storms, the fog, and the haze
But again, it’s all about the weather.
Thanks for reading: The Story of P.J. Clarke’s & Spring Lounge tomorrow. See ya.