I got Kristofferson-erized again Saturday morning. Got home from work at 9:00 Friday night and was back on the road to work at 8:15 Saturday morning. I was vulnerable.
Driving The Peace-mobile. Carol's car has this new fangled thing called a CD player; I took full advantage of it. Kris Kristofferson - This Old Road.
I can get vulnerable with a belly full of booze or half a joint, but I like it the natural way -tired and receptive.
"Look at that old photograph, is it really you?" Meaningful on many levels. You can look at old pictures of yourself and laugh at how young you looked or the clothes you were wearing (or not wearing). If that's all you get out of it you are probably the type who took one shot at reading Shakespeare and said "These people talk funny."
I look at old pictures of myself and see a piece of me. But it ain't really me. The me that is me right now is a lot more me than the me I was then.
Haven't listened to this CD for a while so when those words floated out at me I careened all over the road, bounced off the guard rail, did a three sixty back across the road and ran over a hunter. No great loss.
"Am I young enough to believe in revolution
Am I strong enough to get down on my knees and pray
Am I high enough on the chain of evolution
To respect myself, and my brother and my sister
And perfect myself in my own peculiar way"
Those are words born of wisdom. No twenty year old could ever write those words (unless they were named John Lennon or Paul McCartney or George Harrison). Those words cover a whole lot of ground and rise up out of a wealth of experience.
Fueled by the weight of those words I'm driving down 89 at 85 m.p.h. and thinking that this is the source of my frustration. The way these words make me feel, the way they make me think and question and evolve, that is the way I want to feel every moment that I am awake. Which lately is about 23 hours per day.
My essence vibrates when I come into contact with lyrics or poetry or music that has depth, and I realize that that is the parallel universe within which I should be living. That is why I am anxious all the time and uncomfortable. The life that I live that separates me from meaningful creativity simply does nothing for me. If I am not reading poetry or listening to music or reading literature or writing, than I am just marking time.
I was tired but those words woke me up and roused emotion in me. It was cold, I was going to work against my will and my concept of masculinity was being challenged by the chariot I was piloting and yet I was suddenly smiling and thinking and analyzing and evolving.
I am trying to learn to live in the now and eliminate whine and worry. My guts can't take too much more regret or concern, they are twisted and bubbling over as it is. Those two songs blasted me out of past and future and anchored me firmly to The Now. Just like that. That is powerful stuff, man.
The subtext to this is that I should probably learn to deal with what others define as reality because it is impossible for me to live in the world of poetry 24/7. But I'm 57 years old. I have been this way all my life. Have always preferred poetry, song lyrics and music to people. Frankly I don't want to change. Asshead surgeons can't find the time to talk to my son but they could probably perform a gut transplant on me if needed. I'll have to move forward under that assumption.
I'm looking at the cover of This Old Road. Kris is staring right at me with eyes filled with knowing. The man has lived a life and created a lot of beauty.
I would like to contribute a little towards that in my own peculiar way.
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