By the time I drove past, the property was engulfed in flames. There were at least 30 firefighters there, using hoses and every available method to extinguish it. I pulled over safely and parked. I said, “Wait here I’ll be right back” to the passenger.
I ran toward the building and shouted over and over. I then ran back to my car and got inside.
My passenger asked, “What were you doing?”
“I always wanted to shout ‘THEATER!’ In a crowded fire.”
X
“There’s no such thing as universal advice. For example, you don’t tell masochists to treat others the way they want to be treated.” – X
“People change when they run out of options. Or they see that the road they believed to be infinite does indeed have an end.” X
“The therapist recommended I cry myself to sleep. My efforts to do so proved futile until I saw her bill.” – X
Love, X
He who possesses an unused passport has no advantage over he who has none.
He who forgoes pleasure in place of the mundane might as well be incapable.
He who has intelligence but fails to be introspective can’t claim superiority over a lesser intellect.
He who stresses regarding what might be invites dissatisfaction.
He who ignores the clock finds himself with no more sand in the hourglass.
He who can’t enjoy beauty might as well be blind.
We all possess intellect and souls. We run on the treadmill of obligation and ego. Some wait for the promise of the afterlife; others substitute tomorrow for today.
Forego is foregone.
X
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The following is a story that came from inspiration for the song linked after the story. It might be better if you listen to the song first (in the comments) and then read the story…
Candles Are Meant For Rekindling
Sam sat on the old couch, waiting for Julia to come inside from work. In front of him, one of his wife’s scented candles burned. He sat there for thirty minutes, time frozen. Tuesday afternoon would be as good a time as any to change the path of his life.
He heard her key in the lock as she came inside. When she saw him sitting on the couch with the candle in front of him, she stopped.
“What are you doing Sam?”
“I’d like to talk to you, honey.”
A strange look passed over her face, one he recognized to be fear.
“It’s not like that at all. Please sit here next to me?”
Julia dropped her purse on the coffee table near the candle and reluctantly sat down.
Sam turned slightly toward her. He took her right hand in his and cradled it with his fingers. He leaned over and kissed her. She looked bewildered.
With his left hand, he reached inside the candle and extinguished the tiny flame.
“What?” She asked
With his right hand, he pulled her hand towards his face and kissed it.
He picked up the lighter next to the candle and carefully lit the candle again.
“I’m sorry Julia. I took you for granted. I can’t explain why I let us grow distant. I relit the candle to show you that I appreciate you and love you. I can’t make up for the years that I didn’t see you for who you were.”
He looked at Julia’s face. It had softened. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
“I’m going to play a song for you. And I’d like you to sit with me and listen. We don’t need to talk. I just want you to know that I’ll never take you for granted again.”
Sam picked up the remote and hit play. The room filled with the reverb melody of the song. Though both of them preferred older music, the song captured the sound and feel of times long past.
After a few seconds, Julia leaned into him and sighed.
They sat and listened, leaning further into one another. Sam smiled. Although nothing had changed, he could feel that everything had shifted.
End…
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Where love resides, words are superfluous. Presence and appreciation are the only requirements. Love set aside for a future day is a fool’s folly.
May the love you have be rekindled with the reverb of a distant melody.
Love, X
As I walked down the hill to the bottom lot to leave, I watched a woman fill the little pantry by the bus stop and parking lot. I spoke to her in English. She smiled and said I don’t speak much English. Because of her accent, I switched to Spanish and she lit up. It turns out she is Dominican and her name is Ilca. I made her laugh at least fifteen times as we talked about prejudice and language. What tickled her most was that I introduced her to the American Salute, one I made up extemporaneously. She howled when I demonstrated it to her and explained that it’s the best way to get to know people who are aloof or non-responsive to salutations. The American Salute is comprised of the conflicting body language of a wild wide smile in conjunction with the extension of either middle finger. I explained to her that it separates the people with the good sense of humor and curiosity from people you wouldn’t want to know in the first place. She told me her name was unusual. When I told her mine she was skeptical that I was being honest due to my sense of humor. For whatever reason, when I’m speaking Spanish, my sense of humor escalates while my sense of propriety goes out the proverbial window. I showed her my work badge and it still took her a few seconds to discern that the singular X on the badge was indeed a real name. Times like these make me proud and glad that I speak Spanish; moreover, that I love talking to people. She said she loves the area that she got to know because of her son but that she struggles with the friendliness of people she meets. I recommended that she pretend to be more outgoing and as if everybody might have something interesting to say, ignoring those who brush her off. And that the law of averages would reward her. She still seemed a little hesitant, so I pointed out that since I was the only X she had ever met, it was likely that I might know what I’m talking about.
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Earlier in the morning, I went to my car to retrieve an umbrella in case a pop up shower happened by my break. The sky was apocalyptic and dark. It was beautiful. When I opened the trunk of my car to get the umbrella that I had placed there after the trip, I heard a roar behind me. I turned and got to see something I don’t witness very often: the roar emanated from a visible literal wall of rain moving incredibly fast toward me. It hit me like a liquid brick. The wind was probably at least 40 mph and blew me sideways. The rain rendered the umbrella as useless as an open mind in Kentucky. Given that I was already soaked, I walked slowly back up the hill toward work as the wind and rain beat me. I could see the trees bending across the street. As odd as it sounds, it was beautiful and felt amazing. Earlier this morning I wrote about witnessing the smaller rain and lightning be born. The later episode allowed me to see the storm’s genesis. I put on a paper scrub top upon my return to work, even though my shoes were filled with water. I left work for a few minutes, not to change my clothes, but rather to pick up some of the plants at home that had been rendered airborne.
X
I’m standing on the landing, listening to the distant thunder, with the occasional flash of dim lightning. I left Erika’s apartment early so as not to disturb her. My cat Güino was inside, faintly meowing for a serving of cat juice. After going in and giving him what he craved, I made a cup of coffee and returned to the landing. In the short interim, the lightning had increased in intensity and I could hear soft drops of rain start to fall. My trip to Pennsylvania now seems like a month ago. For a moment, I badly wanted to be back on the quiet nocturnal streets, walking mile after mile. During the trip, I took advantage of both time and energy to do so. I’ll finish my cup of coffee in a moment. I try not to begrudge the necessity of work. Some mornings the streets call my name and doubly so after I wander in a new place, one I’ll likely not see again. I don’t know the word for nascent nostalgia. Love, X
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I left the apartment an hour early on the way to play taxi, my to-do list incomplete. The cold water of the creek was calling my name: “Jackass,” it whispered. The water was lower than I expected, but still cool enough and reaching my knees at one point. I walked down the middle of the creek to get a better view of the rock wall about 50 yards from the water bridge. As I traversed, the sun played hide and seek and changed the colors wildly. I found the water snake in its usual spot on the left side of the bank, coiled in a significantly deeper pool of water near a log. When I snapped the picture of my shadow in a shallow point in the water, I noted the prismatic effect the sun had on the water. The picture doesn’t do it justice. It looked like the sun and the shadows made a tacit agreement to render what I was experiencing in my head. I watched the dancing green and blue until it faded. I finished by giving the tiny minnows the opportunity to nip at my feet on the other side of the water bridge. My to-do list will still be in the apartment upon my return. The snake will remain coiled until the shadows grow longer. And the birds will chirp and sing as countless passersby pass on the trail above. X
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She was standing behind the bushes near the bus stop, her heavy bags piled around her. I startled her because I was using talk to text. I thought she was standing in the shade, waiting on the bus. She thought I was talking to her.
She was probably in her early 30s. She had brilliant white teeth that reminded me of Kip Winger. She had very muscular arms. Not just for a woman.
I apologized for startling her and she laughed. Continuing a little further down the trail, I sat on the transformer next to the trail to watch the birds and squirrels. It’s the time of year when the Russian crow makes his appearance. Though I did not think so the first year, by the second year I knew that he recognized me. He’s not made his appearance yet. When he does, I’ll know. His caw is spectacular and evokes the voice of an old Russian man.
After a minute of sitting there, I watched the bus stop woman laboriously walk past with her heavy bags precariously arranged around her torso. I don’t know where she was going or anything about her. Seeing people like that inevitably provokes curiosity. Though I did not mean to startle her again, I asked her if she needed anything. She laughed and said no, unless I had a wheelbarrow tucked into my back pocket.
I don’t know why I said it, but as she moved past, I told her, “One day you’ll find a place you call home to be happy.” She stopped and looked at me and replied, “Thank you. I’m weary to the bone. And I look forward to that.” And she smiled again, showing her brilliant white teeth.
She kept walking. I realized that the multiple bags she carried probably contained the remnants of her life.
Love, X
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I watched the older black man in front of me at the convenience store. He left his BC powder at the counter and shouted something funny out the door to an unseen partner. I waited, knowing he’d return after the volley of words. Shaking his head and laughing, he came back in and piled out the change he had in his pocket to pay for it. He told the clerk he would leave the extra change for the next person to pay it forward. I told him to leave a 20 and really make someone’s day.
“I’m here to feed them, not fatten them,” he said with a wink and a grin.
I hadn’t heard that one in decades.
I love that old saying. It conveys a lot more philosophy than it seems.
X
In my apartment above the hallway junction, I have a metal piece of artwork spelling out the word onism. I had it made a few years ago. The word definitely came to me, walking the beautiful streets of houses in Willow Grove, Pennsylvania. I walked mile after mile of the surrounding area, seeing the neighborhoods in a way that even the inhabitants have forgotten to experience. It bemuses me that we visit other places to find newness and beauty and others come to our little corners to do the same. The word onism is supposed to describe the unknowable about the world and our own internal realization that we can’t really know the world. I’ll put a link in the comments to demonstrate the mood the word is supposed to evoke. Most people who watch the video find themselves a little untethered by the realization that there are 197 million square miles to explore and almost 8 billion people living around them.
Because I can’t evoke a word like ‘onism’ without mentioning another, I’ll also put in a link for ‘avenoir.’ It’s impossible to absorb the words without understanding that we seem to live with so many of our priorities backward.
I went to Valley Green (Wissahickon Park) during my trip to Pennsylvania, a nature-filled historical spot. It’s one of Ruth’s favorite spots, anchored by both beautiful and bittersweet memory. Another place I’ve never been to and one I’ll likely not see again. A pop-up thunderstorm cut the visit short. But even the rain brought its own message. We were supposed to go with one purpose in mind, but the mercurial way people are morphed the visit into something else. You have to be okay with that. Because so many things in life are exactly like that. You can plan and set out a blueprint only to find that the happy accidents; hell, even the unhappy ones, sometimes filter glimpses into surprising slices of both people and the world. Though we went with a pre-planned objective, it was one which went unrealized. Admiring history, I found introspection.
I have a couple of pictures of us at the beautiful spot in the valley, canopied by immense trees. The sunlight quickly yielded to darkness and impending rain. We walked along the creek, bemused by the ducks and careful of the cyclists enjoying the incredible nature-wrapped trails cutting through the park. I could spend days there, lost in the old trees and history. Within fifteen minutes of taking the picture of the sky, the storm had rolled in, darkening the valley and rendering the canopy of trees as a noir version of a different place. As we drove away, the storm swayed the trees and dropped little limbs onto us.
I didn’t see the Liberty Bell, the Rocky Statue, or Independence Hall. But I did stand in a history-filled valley, looking up at the trees and the sun which overlook it. Though the person whose life was cut short by squandering his last chances wasn’t there, I was. His absence was supposed to be the catalyst for our visit. He lost track of the essential beauty of being alive and instead focused on the tragedy of life and let it swallow him. Anyone who can’t relish the smallest of moments and appreciate being alive is missing the treasure of present-moment life.
Later in the trip, I had the pleasure of having Rita’s water ice for the first time, thanks to my de facto mother-in-law Ruth. Though the name derives from the creator’s wife and is a nickname for Italian ice, it’s something that we don’t have anywhere. That’s a loss for everyone because it both soothes and stimulates the taste buds. Also, if you’re in Philly, you have to pronounce the word ‘water’ like you’ve bit your tongue: w-u-d-d-e-r. I devoured my allegedly large serving like a zoological gorilla. Yes, I literally drooled at one point, much to the delight of both Ruth and Erika.
It was odd to see that the sun rises earlier on the east coast. I was awake for each sunrise, having already wandered the quiet, dark streets. Twice I was in the heated pool as the sun found its way out, even through the wildfire-fueled haze. Though I’m back to normal life again, I feel a slight sense of irreality, an unused synonym for dreaminess or untethered awareness. I’ve tucked the moments away already, hoping they’ll fail to dissipate as life intrudes further.
Love, X
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P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 