Nostalgia…Meet Serendipity Let’s Hang.

It feels like it was just yesterday. Maybe because it was just last year. But pressing play on Colin Hay’s Long Way Home was all it took. I almost turned on the fireplace and made an English muffin and a cup of coffee. It would have been more than Déjà vu. It would have been a time machine. I feel it in a place somewhere between my lungs and my heart. It was nostalgia. It was serendipity. It was pity for my lost years and hope for my years that I have left. It was optimism in the moment and thankfulness for what I hold so near to my soul and it compelled me to write.

Fortunately, I call myself a writer, so this will make appropriate the mystery of this sense of morning melancholy that would perhaps bring me into a flow state. If not for only a brief moment.

The holidays are upon us and the feelings I grasp to capture and put in a bottle become far more frequent during this time of year. Maybe it is the crisp air. It could be the perpetual darkness the shut down my vision like a fog so that I cannot allow my mind to see to far. Only grounding me int h=the present like an isolation chamber or sensory deprivation tank. Whatever it is I like it.

I want to live in it, this moment forever. I want to be in touch with my present in a never-ending loop with only my actions to break up the pattern and enjoy that which is in front of me and now want for what imagine could be better if only I possessed it.

If only I could be somewhere else. Yeah, that would make it even better. Like being on vacation and seeing a beautiful landscape and darting into the nearest bar for a drink to hold. Yes that would be the cherry on top. Only to find out that the minute you complete preparations for the moment it has passed. Never to be captured.

Could I have just settled for oxygen instead of spirits?

Fortunately, I do not drink anymore. Not that I quit, I just did not continue. I always imagined that if I could stop drinking that then I would be able to enjoy more of these landscapes. Now that I don’t partake, it is no different. I was quite the party animal in my younger years. I often thought then that if I stopped these unspoken habits that I would be able to be present and feel more often this very same moment more often. This too was not was I was missing.

Is it that I needed to plant seeds of the moment so that I could live them again in the future? Like little love notes to myself to remind me that life is beautiful if only I was to stop looking here. Here being the future when I open the note and here also being the moment I wrote the note to myself long ago.

Even as it sits in front of me like a fire-breathing dragon panting hot air on my cheek and the sound vibrating in my skull, and my eyes adjusting to the breaking dawn, I am still looking upstairs to the aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Thinking to myself if only I did not have this mild soreness from yesterdays run. Yet I know that if I get up from this place I would return to a room that has been changed.

The furniture would cast a shadow in two directions. One from the fire and one from the fire of the morning sun. My heart rate would be elevated, and my skin would be flush from the quick detour.

I would re-enter this room only to find that this life was not the one that I had hoped. THe sense of presence in the moment would be like a beautiful butterfly that floats away as you reach for your camera. The snapshot would never exist.
LIke that special song before sunset. The very same couch next to the unlit fireplace. Pressing play and lighting a match. Watching the room fill with light and writing frantically as if it is about to disappear. That I was doing this very same thing one year ago to the day and by simply recreating the moment I could feel this way. Only one thing is missing.

Me.

Rock

Loneliness and solitude since the day she let me go

Seeking out a different mood

And the song I did not know

I am not a quitter am a beginner

With the need to carry on

What is that I have begun?

Will be there when I’m gone

Yet still I do not understand loneliness

Nor can I say I may

But I do pity the lonely souls

Who has to feel this way?

A steady breeze is shifting clouds

A pink sky above the ocean

20 ft. above the water

On a Rock and my emotion

I know all humans have a mind

And the thought they called their own

And the still with all the thousand minds

How does it feel to feel to be alone?

Somebody things that must do

Before my time will end

And although many thoughts I have

You would never comprehend

I cry alone so none may see

The kind of man I’ve longed to be

Central­Park

Why do we want to apologize?

To those who are unclean

The walks in the parks may never return

If you step into the machine

What have I done to make this mess?

To use no soap and water

I know there was no other day

When the sun came out much hotter

Scream at the bush then I step on a thorn

The needle in the grass, it is my new foot that was torn

Dream of a song but the notes are not seen

I stop for the red and I charge at the green

Twenty-four From Now

What will I do tomorrow when I’m finished with today
Will the day be soaked in boredom or may I go out and play
On the inside I’m wet
On the inside I can’t forget
On the outside I cry
On the outside I wonder why
A bird with a broken wing has his reason not to sing
Many trees an open field but only one had fruit to yield