Time For A Confession

Coming out in this way may cause some schisms in my friendships, due to it being so 'off the wall', but it feels right for me to confess now. I am a Time Traveler. Not in a Bradbury sort of way, but as real as anything else about me.

It's a power that I almost always have no control over. I can recall a relatively recent attempt by me to deliberately take a trip back a few decades, that was met with nearly disastrous results. It usually comes all by itself like the wind, which appears out of nowhere and blows where it will. Music is the vehicle, or shall I say catalyst, almost every time. It's a gift which is both a blessing and a curse.

In this body, there beats the heart of an artist (in the form of a singer/songwriter/musician) and therein lies the very root of the reality of this power. For instance, just hearing a certain song on the radio in the car or at work can propel me back to a time in my early teens where I am hiding behind the bowling alley smoking a cigarette. The song will then take me back to the last time I heard it and drop me off there. Fortunately, I have no problem returning to the present time from that point. These experiences are full of wonder, but quite often they are accompanied by deep feelings of longing or heartache. Again; a blessing and a curse.

The movie "The Time Traveler's Wife" is the closest example of this phenomenon that I can think of. The big difference between the traveler in the movie and me is that he has a totally physical experience, whereas I do not. One thing we do share is that we don't have the power to change anything, but can only witness the Past as it happened. The reality of this is most stark when I hear a song from the 1940's or earlier, and find myself in a time before I was even born.

As I continue to reflect on all of this, which I will probably always do, I think I may have been to the Future a number of times when I was a lot younger. Normally, it has always been the Past that I visit.

Lyrics to songs often play a large part in the intensity of the experience, and very lately I have come to regard a specific song recording as the most powerful and expansive version of what I am attempting to describe. The song "Wicked Game", as penned and sung by Chris Isaak--and it's lyrics--causes the greatest breadth of travel along my timeline of any song before or since. I am whisked back to a time that is nearly before my earliest memories and then deposited back to the present moment on every occasion.

As often happens to many of us, a song can get "stuck in my head". Currently, the song "Wicked Game" crowds out almost every other thought.

Rest in Peace, Dear Bonnie

Bonnie and I were together for over twenty years. In that time, she made it clear to me who was her best friend in the world. Their friendship went all the way back to high school, and even though many miles and many years had kept them physically separate, the friendship endured. I knew it to be a genuine 'heart connection'. In all our years together, I heard Bonnie refer to her only as "Linda from Savannah".

I figured that Bonnie and Linda From Savannah must have shared some terrific laughs over the years, since Bonnie saw tremendous humor in things that I wasn't so quick to laugh over. An example I often give is that she could erupt into uproarious laughter at someone tripping and falling on their butt, and only worry about their physical condition afterward. My leaning is to empathize first, and then see the humor in the situation, in that order. Sometimes, I don't see the humor at all. I have often heard it said that I am "too serious". Bonnie was a lot more free than I, in that respect.

Bonnie has been gone for over two years, and I am starting to recall many examples of that tendency in her. It actually awakens that sense of humor in me. Oddly enough, very early in our relationship I became aware of her love of the Three Stooges. I found out in our first weeks together that she actually had the hard copy of Moe's book, Moe Howard &The Three Stooges, whereas I only had the soft cover version. Unlike most every other woman on the Earth, she was a fan. Laughing at pratfalls came natural to her.

An incident that stands out in my mind happend at a Mongolian Barbeque restaurant that we frequented. We were standing across the counter from the chef as he cooked one of our meals on the large, circular stone grill. I had just handed him my bowl, filled with the ingredients I had chosen; the last being a half serving spoon of peanuts from a large, punchbowl-sized container on the counter. Bonnie and I were chatting, and as I was gesturing I accidentally hit the large serving spoon that I had shoved back into the peanuts in the bowl. Peanuts went flying everywhere, like confetti. Respecting my sensitivity, Bonnie did her best to keep from laughing out loud; largely to no avail. Even years later, when we would share this memory, she would laugh uncontollably and I would eventually smile. It's easier for me to smile today, and even chuckle to myself as I recall that moment. Bonnie helped me in that.

So the other day, during my lunch hour--after having started a conversation on Facebook with Linda From Savannah the day before--I was texting her about Bonnie's undying love and friendship for her. As I alternately texted and took bites from my homemade meal of sweet and sour pork and brown rice, I became animated as I edited the messages. As I reviewed something I had just typed, my hand hit the fork embedded in the meal, and brown rice went flying all around me. I immediately felt a "presence" and wondered if perhaps Bonnie was letting me know she approved of what I was typing.

As I get older, this type of thing seems to happen more and more.

Snapshot Of An Emotional Landscape

Lately, a number of songs have gotten "stuck in my head", as happens to apparently everyone whether they are a songwriter or not. Some of them are a little disturbing (in a way) and cause me to wonder about the author and his or her state of mind. This has led to an epiphany of sorts for me.

The latest tune to visit my awareness like this is the song by the Who, entitled "Behind Blue Eyes". The line 'My love is vengeance' triggered the disturbance. With the help of Google, I quickly found the lyrics and read them a few times. I had already come up with the phrase of the title of this post, but it became cemented in my psyche due to my pondering of the Who's song.

To use a metaphor, our emotional state is not unlike the sand; ever-shifting due to the winds of change. The temporary dunes that are created by these winds are just that: Temporary. Thank Goodness, actually. What a horrible thought to have one's love always be Vengeance?

So, today I look at all these musical works of art (particularly the ones that get stuck in my head) differently than in times past. I now find myself automatically applying that metaphor in my awareness. The oddest thing about all this is that it causes me to see that I am still learning at this late stage of the game. Or is it that my awareness is just running deeper than before?

Upon re-reading this post, I'm thinking it might seem a little trite. Maybe the short version would be better, as in a quick conversation with myself:
"Is that how Pete Townsend feels??"
"Well, no....not all the time. It's just really a snapshot of his emotional landscape."
"Oh, right."

As my old friend, fellow-musician, fellow-writer and wordsmith Walter Jowers used to say,
"As you wuz."