Jun 28

A moment

There are three moments really. Imagine with me.

Context: I am travelling at a high rate of speed on a friend's Yamaha 250 dirt bike. It is late spring in North Carolina. I am wearing no shoes, shorts and a t-shirt. I have on the best helmet my money could buy. I am starting to turn into a sharp left corner. Everything is good. And then, it wasn't.
Moment one: A small, white, sedan came out of the corner too wide. It drifted into my lane. I hesitated. And in that hesitation, coming up on the lean, I knew I could no longer make the corner.
Moment two: After deciding to put the bike down on the side, on the berm, after hitting something with the rear tired, I see everything now from above, I see myself flip over and land, the clutch lever into my side, and then flip again. I see myself stopped, standing, finally no longer holding the bike.
Jun 25

If only

If only.

It will be on my tombstone.

If only I had ... done this, or that, or spoken up sooner, or, at all.

If only I had ... spent more time with my kids, worked less, run more, eaten better, slept more, oh, hell, that's not true.

I actually don't say that very often. But when I do, it has a powerful effect.

  This year my uncle died. He was 99. And I really thought he'd live forever. He was still driving. He did yoga. He was on the treadmill every day. And, of course, he played piano. In concert. At least once a month. And he taught at Bates College.

And earlier in the year, his last, he said that one of his performances was his absolutely best. Ever. This was a man who had played at Carnegie Hall. Three times. He had debuted a piece by Igor Stravinsky. And several of Aaron Copland's. A man who reached his peak at 99.

Jun 25

Staircase of Dreams

    It's haunting me. Shimmering, shining, ever changing. I can't even tell if it's really there. No step is the same: a varying hue, a different substance, more or less transparent than the others. And if I look closely, I swear I can see images flitting through the fibers, dancing their way up and up, full of life. Some horrible, some beautiful, but each one strikingly familiar.
    The staircase looks like it's made of dreams.
    It pulls me like an intricately woven rope, ever closer, through my entranced state. I've left my doorway without even remembering it; I'm standing before this spiraling entryway to another world. I look up, and the ceiling has vanished. I see only stairs that seems to go on forever. I've never believed in heaven, but now… I'm not so sure.

Mar 08

Oh for a bit of interesting-ness