The Shore of Time
If you are out there and are reading this, I want to say with open arms, WELCOME to and THANK YOU! for reading my third ever blog post. I'm just me, a man with thoughts and experiences. I enjoy writing this blog for expressing those things.
My life is not in perfect order (whose is?) and I won't pretend otherwise. My bedroom needs cleaning. My car, vacuuming. My piano, tuning. My cat poops next to his friggin clean litter box for unknown cat-reasons. I have a finite bankroll. And I don't watch the news. BUT I'm happy as fyouck. Give me a PB&J and call it a mofo day. Yes, and sometimes, yet rarely, I get in a mood to use profanities. I am in one of those moods right now. My mom will say she doesn't like this post. I would say sorry not sorry, but screw that overused phrase. "Ding dong the witch is dead". "Pop goes the weasel". What was I talking bout... oh, about the ebbs and flows of time. You know, like how waves crash and roll - our perception of time works the same.
I didn't study the music of one of my all time favorite male artists, Donny Hathaway, until my early twenties. There's one lyric of his that I've been studying for years, and it says, "And heaven's there for those who fool the tricks of time" from The Closer I Get To You featuring Roberta Flack. It's so simple, but what does it truly mean? I wish I could ask him what it meant when it was written. I want heaven! I want to fool these tricks of time so I can get this heaven they speak of. I feel like we've all been figuring this time thing out. I know it is possible! Why is time tricking?
At this point in my journey the sun and my feelings are the only real honest "time" tellers. Three in the morning and noon are not much different. Sleep happens. Songwriting happens. The cycle continues. It's not depressing, despite how I may sound. It's quite liberating! We're all trained to live structured lifestyles based around time. Go to class now, got to work, go to bed... repeat. But what about the person who is an unbounded artist? The person who finds inspiration whenever and wherever they find it. Who creates in the dark and dreams in the light... who are sleepless and alive... are they fooled by the tricks of time?
Around a year ago something happened that I will never forget. I was in the basement of a condo where I was working, in the trash room operating the compactor. There was a wall clock in that room. I've read it hundreds of times. But this one particular day its reading was different. I was looking at it, and I saw the second hand go backwards and then forwards again. For this one quiet moment, where the light shone through the dust particles like strings in a loom. While I was alone in a basement room... Time took a silent breath. A wave with no sound curled its hair and straightened it thin again. And I caught just a glimpse of Time's eupnea.