6.
You know those few times when you've stupidly forgotten to take off the parking brake as you jump in your car, and you get about 10 feet down the road, feeling like you've got an anchor attached to your bumper that's moored at the center of the earth? Your wheels grind away, then you realize you're just temporarily an idiot and you release the hand brake and preeeooww you're suddenly carefree and flying through the world like a bird, zipping around with the ease of a sparrow on a fresh sundappled June morning after a rainstorm? Yeah, so it turns out that's a feeling that's not altogether inapplicable to my own experience just now, although personally I feel less like a tweety bird and more like a guy in a pair of cowboy boots eating a Caesar salad I just made.
“Hail Caesar!” you might sa—I mean “What exactly do you mean?” you might say, wondering what the heck I'm going off about, again. No, really. I think I'm onto another little piece of the puzzle of life here. Hear me out, kitties. I talked about the whole reverence thing, right? About why I thought it was important? I talked about being happy and oh so lonely and oh so intense and thinking all about all of us six billion ants crawling on a plate (#factsoflife #kingcrimsonftw) and on and on...yeah, well, I mostly stand by all that but it turns out there's a whole other side to this whole thing and THAT IS, that I do not care about any of it at all. I just don't care anymore, folks. In the immortal words of my man Tupac you know I don't give a fuck. Fo' real. I actually don't anymore. And that is the key vibration I think I've been missing in my life soup this whole time.
Yeah, it's one thing to think you don't care, and actually still pretty much care exactly the same amount. I've done that a lot. “Look, we're not faulting you here,” you (all) might say to me, “we get it. Life.” I mean it's one of those things that seems pretty important when you're doing it. You sorta have to care about it from time to time. Things matter, so you feel like “shit, maybe I outta pay attention and take this seriously!” We set goals. We try. We all do this, yes, and it's fine. I've done it A LOT, and it does have its purpose. But look, it's getting to be a best laid plans scenario and all that jazz...and I think I've been feeling that for a while, been needin' to get to this certain special place where the points just don't matter for a long time. Don't get me wrong, when I say I don't care I'm not advocating rudeness here, or being irreverent. Don't disrespect; be cool. Golden rule still applies. Same as it ever was. But you dig what I'm throwing down here? Just, I say just STOP caring about anything for a minute. It feels great. It's like a facial for the soul. I don't know why I didn't try this sooner. I'm used to putting shit out there, and naturally I tend to rather care about it...“ok, I did make this song/poem/popsicle stick earring rack etc. so it's a part of me...so really I AM it!...so it's me, right? It's important somehow, right, all the stuff that I do? That's why I'm doing it?” Ehnnnng! Nope, no dice. Not one bit. No way. Never had any dibs on my stuff in the first place. Look, even Moses smacked that rock with his miracle-stick a couple times when it didn't do anything right away the first time. But let's remember who we're here to dig in the first place. It's not ourselves, or even each other. So I say, enough overloading the system with a mind that's over-thinking it and overworking it. It's so easy these days to spew, man I'm like a spewmaster, but enough already. What am I doing with all this bullshit? So.
It's enough.
Time to start with a different goal in mind. There is no spoon. I love reverence, I love the whole concept, but you know it's possible to revere and simultaneously not give a fuck, and I think for once I am starting to really not. I've had it, kiddies. I do what I do and that's all. Take me or leave me I don't care anymore, if I were the last flute player kickin' around the planet I wouldn't be bothered about who heard my tunes, if I were the last dude blogging on a computer in the middle of the crater that used to be all the rest of us I wouldn't care if a single cockaroach logged on and perused my groovy-ass muse, I am done caring, I am doing this not for the cockaroaches, no sir, not for Scarface and not for you, dear reader; not for the world, and not for myself. I'm just doing it. Whatever that means. Let y'all know if I change my mind but for now, let me just say that it feels fine to realize that I don't always have to conform to everyone's likes and dislikes, blend in with their music and their noodly little key changes and jive with all their noodly moods, get 'em to give me an ok in their little book, offer up for their consideration all those Super-Interesting Articles I find and all that Super-Deep Mindfulness crap I love sharing ad foreverdom—because really, daddy-O, who am I trying to impress here? Yeah that's what I thought #fuckitthereisnotry—all that business of texting their ass my cute little thoughts, sendin' 'em emails, writing letters, you know it's been ten years since I got a letter back, and you know, why do I practice my ass off so I can go out and scintillate on the stage all kapaow!—demonstrate to some reprobate the supreme command of my musical contraband, slingin' rhythm while I be drinkin' wid 'em (#slinginrhythmwhileibedrinkinwidem); you know they gettin' rowdy wid us and understand, bird's the word and I'm the man...ok, I really think I mean it this time. This time, I'm letting it all go. I've got shit to do anyway.
And you know I don't even like bowling. Seriously. If you're going to ask me out to do something, forget about bowling. But also nevermind, because I don't really care about bowling or friending or waiting for the two to ever come together. And anyway I'll stick with Lennon for that.
Tell you what I do like: bitter greens and sweet memories on a plate, delicious. Movie dates. Cold wind while I drive with the windows open and the heat blasting. Sneaky hashtags. Snappy dressers. Snappy thinkers. #happysnappers. Cooking, big time. Cast iron skillets and plasma-cutter knives so sharp you gotta warn the laypersons all about it before they do something they'll regret. River stones and Spartan accouterments. As in, a coffee table with a pebble on it or a solo with one note on it. Gimme something that highlights and compliments the whole in its simplicity. Don't give me a trainwreck, in fact don't give me anything 'cause I don't care anymore. Ah, so liberating! There's so many things I enjoy, and I think waiting to enjoy them fully till I find the right folks to dig 'em with just makes no sense. All good folks in all good time, sure, but in the meantime bring on the full-spectrum satisfaction, de moi seulement.
While I'm liking things, let me add that I like moments when you manage to actually think of nothing. Not easy to do for long, and most likely impossible with others. I like music, the uniqueness of the experience contained in every piece, each one a complete world, having the opportunity to move in any direction. As well, I like allowing myself to #frissonate the hell outta whatever I'm listening to. When I've got my tunes played loud through Lulla's speakers with the windows down and the heat cranked, goosebumps abound. I start to let my mind go. I like wondering who I'll meet before I meet them and I love meeting the people I wonder about. I also like writing, and I like playing around with all the weird sounds we have in just this one language. Makes me wonder after all the other languages that have been and are; do we get to choose ours before we come here? And what is that force that guides us through our highways and byways, that unique experience Mr. Ian Anderson has termed "being in the grip of stronger stuff"? And what strange effect indeed it has on us, the feeling of great poise and a complete lack of control. What dictates our experience of any given moment?
Fact is, as I sit and reflect, there are a million million things to dig in this world, and after a lifetime of digging them, of reaching deep into myself to scoop out all the saudade I could carry, this is me formally relieving myself of the desire to ever share any of them with the rest of the world for any reason. Obviously, that'll still happen. It never stops happening. But as of this moment I am not doing anything anymore with the same intent I've done it with thus far. Because why should I let these cares shape my experience? I believe I have unlocked an honest desire to hang out with myself: instead of treating myself like an anal retentive roommate taking too long in the bathroom during finals week, how about I honor my own care less-ness and namaste myself until the Soulpocalypse hits. We've still got a lot of training to do, after all, and the time will come for each one in turn.
Sometimes the breeze blows
Then the trees stir in the air
Sometimes the breeze blows.