the year is 1968. taking a road trip with marc, sitting in his plush van, driving through meandering dark roads, the trees illuminated by light blue street lights. standing in an alley way, speaking from a place of grace at one am. how i love to gaze down a long dimly lit alley way at night. listening to donovan, driving slow. parking by the sea and listening to silence. freedom. no job, no home, and enough money to get to the next gas station. playing shows and popping up tents, selling strawberries on the curbside. beliefs not in the head, but romancing the heart instead. liberation. eating eggs at 2 am. his music washing over me, opening and healing all of the shadowy places. smashing the rigid pattern of age. brown suede vest and cowboy boots. mezcal on the lips. lapis beads on the wrist. an eagle’s eye. pictured on the inside, memories that cannot be proved. imagination deep as the ocean. thankful to all lives, including the dead ones. burning down the structure. leaving home and hitch hiking across the land. that’s how i hopped in. was only sixteen then. but old for my age. dancing on the fringes of the stage. music entering the bones and filling my throat with wings. don’t try to understand this. let logic and literalness rest. wrong time and right place. a soul returns, reminding you of an old face. delivering a message. be her again. shed the false skin. no more self obsessed dark narcissism. no more hiding. there’s no longer a river of people feeling the same way to swim with. youth is leaving and the years left are each a sacred page. write the book and let the wind guide you like hanuman. you will drift into a new place. take a job. grow your hair long. get on the stage and sing a song. the year is 2015. it’s technological and the surface is everything. but i could never do that, someone would see through that. (lines from a third eye blind song). it’s not about the glory anyway. be the leaf carried and the stone rolling. remember that you belong inside this longing. here is where i am and it’s a different story. the sun is less yellow, more white. the sky is filled with robots and the mind with tidbits. kali yuga rains and angels speak from finger tips. don’t question this. absurdity to break down the logic and cover up the dying. love me honey, i’m trying. grey sky and drizzle. candles lit in the morning to avoid using the lighting. reading souls and complying with the unseen. the time is now, and the story is not complete. jump into a new reality with those two bare feet..see? still you.