“I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.”
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.”
― Jack London
Like a still image, a song can transport you back to a moment in time that has been forgotten. For instance, during the wild fires of Southern California in 2009 I had a very real flashback when Shakira’s song; “Whenever, Wherever” blared out from the radio while driving on the Glendale Freeway. The smell of a burning hillside mixed with fumes of diesel, the thump, thump, thumping of the helicopters overhead transported me immediately back to Bagram airbase in Afghanistan. Music is sort of a synthetic acid, which enhances flashbacks of one’s own memories. Scans of the brain show that when people listen to music, virtually every area of their brain becomes more active. Which may explain why I have overcome a learning disability with dyslexia and attention deficit disorder.
Strange as it may seem, when I listen to music as I am doing right now, it forces me to focus and keeps my ADD at bay. Growing up, my parents could never understand why I would play music when reading or studying. They would just shout at me to turn the record player or radio off. But, instinctively I need this learning aid to focus .. go figure! Music helps me concentrate. Once I sit down, play my music I fall into a Zen like zone and my brain slows down to a crawl so that I can concentrate. If it were not for music and the computer I would probably be selling used furniture in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
But when you combine music and dance it can bring back the passionate fire of our youth and the peacefulness of our softer and more graceful years – maybe they are never expressed more fully than through a song and a slow dance. It is the medium of music and dance that is tangible to our soul and expresses to the world who we truly are and who we can be. The best part of music for me, is when my arms are wrapped around a woman and I can feel the beat of her heart to the tempo of the music. We become lost, yet together in sync as the lyric’s nourish our souls. Unaware of time and space we dance losing isolation to become a bridge of kindred spirits as a karmic connection begins to blossom between us……….would you like to dance?
Mary McWhorter-Banks 1925 – 2020
Uh-will the wind ever remember the names it has blow in the past?
And with this crutch, its old age
And its wisdom it whispers, “No, this will be the last” – Jimi Hendrix
Mary was 94 years old with severe dementia, and resides in a hospice facility in Oklahoma. And she’s my mom. On November 6th, 2020 mom passed away from complications of Covid-19. This is the last moments I spent with mom.
************
Mom sits silently in her wheelchair vacantly staring at the bear wall above her bed. On occasion she will touch her locket that hangs around her neck. I know she feels like leaving, but she can’t go. Mom doesn’t know that this is her tomorrow. There are only fleeting moments when the depths of her dementia recedes, and she sees me sitting on her bed.
“What are you doing here?” She asks.
As quickly as I can answer. Mom vanishes back into the dark corridors of her mind. She’s gone, only to be replaced with an empty stare to the white wall above her bed. My love for the woman who gave me life isn’t always available, but somewhere in moms mind I can only hope she knows that I have not abandoned her.
I open my computer and start to play music to fill the void of silence in her room. Out of the corner of my sight, moms leg starts to gently move, I slowly turn my head so as not to detract from moms gaze. Following her leg down to the tip of her fuzzy pink slipper. Mom begins to tap the metal footrest of her wheelchair. Mom smiles, and the paleness of her cheeks disappears and is replaced with a rosy pink color hue. I wonder, what if I play music from her youth.
Playing a mix of Frank Sinatra songs, the room fills with big band music with “Ol’ Blue Eyes” at the mic.
“ I always liked him” she says somewhat abruptly.
“Mom were you a bobby-soxer?”
There is a pause as mom searches her past, “Yes.”
She looks over at me after answering.
“Who are you?” she ask
“Mom, I’m your historian.”
A broom is drearily sweeping up the broken pieces of yesterdays life
Somewhere a queen is weeping
Somewhere a king has no wife
And the wind, it cries Mary – Jimi Hendrix
My mom and dad, Paul and Mary. My grandparents, Otis and Jewel. My cousins, Missy, Mary, Wava, Jerry, Patsy, Jimmy and Tommy. My aunties and uncles, June Bug, Buck, Evelyn, Stan, Bobby, Eunice and Joe. And not to be forgotten, Ginger and Bobby our loyal family dog’s. Celluloid memories of days long gone.
By the time we began to understand enough about what the world to ask the right questions, our visit is over, and someone else is visiting, asking the same questions. Then we realize that suddenly it’s yesterday.
In the book Peter Pan, one of the most memorable moments for me, is when the shadow of Peter Pan is severed from him when Nana runs into the room and growls. Peter quickly jumps out the window, but Nana has trapped his shadow by closing the window on it. Fortunately, Wendy who has befriended Peter will later sew his outline back.
I didn’t notice until I became an adult, that death is a major component of the Peter Pan story. In the first chapter of the book “Peter and Wendy,” it’s essentially stated that Peter Pan is a psychopomp— a term found in mythology, that refers to guides of souls, spirits, angels, or deities in many religions whose responsibility is to escort newly departed souls from earth to the afterlife.
But others believe that Peter’s shadow, and those of his lost boys are typically understood as a symbol of their inability to reach adulthood. Thus the Peter Pan Syndrome in relationships, is a term that can be a harsh truth for women to come to the realization that the man-child that their dating or married too refuses to get his shit together.
I guess I am one of those guys who have clung to my long-shot dream for so long that it nearly costs me the harmony and love of family, friends and financial security. So, why was it that I noticed my shadow trying to open the door to this old rusty pickup truck ? Maybe my silhouette is foreshadowing that without him, I have hitched a ride to Neverland and just how arrogant and self-absorbed I can really be if I don’t take stock of my actions and make the right attitude adjustment.
“I’m not sure if it the zest for life that I have or just the carbonation… my friends say that I have a bubbly personality. Oh geez ! People that say you have a bubbly personality… chances are you’re not attractive. I don’t think I’m ugly, I have a great smile, good hair, a positive attitude and I’m a Gemini. Did you know that we Gemini’s are gentle, affectionate, curious, adaptable, with an ability to learn quickly and exchange ideas openly. The downside of being a Gemini is nervousness and indecisive….wait a minute, indecisive…Coca-Cola or Pepsi ? Oh ! it’s not important. The only thing I don’t like about being a soda jerk is the paper hats. I mean they tear easily after you sweat and they never fit right. I don’t throw my paper hat’s away I keep them and make origami zebra’s..you know, the strips on the hat and all. Origami zebras are more difficult to fold than origami cranes. My paper hats are perfect for folding for zebras. It took me forever to get the lines of zebra stripes vertical and not horizontal. My zebras reminds me of the old adage: Not everything is black-or-white, or in my case red and white. The world isn’t black-or-white in the zebras world either. I once read that the symbolic meaning of zebras are the masters of balance, a symbol for individuality, the spiritual significance of knowing yourself, and the magic of illusion. So, I may have a bubbly personality and be optimistic by nature but don’t judge me by my stripes, remember I’m a Gemini.”
A tattered piece of napkin is fused to the formica table top creating a semi circle from where the syrup dispenser sat. Frank’s forearm is momentarily glued to the table.
Frank fishes for an ice cube from his water and begins to mop the sugary halo.
The sound of leather and metallic tapping off the chrome base of the table escalates. Frank’s restless legs syndrome telegraphs his anxiety.
“Okay Frank, this is just between you and I…..okay?”
He nods yes.
“What I understand is that you can’t stop it or shut it down, you can only strap yourself in and go for the ride, you are no longer in the drivers seat. I hate to tell you this Frank. But your guardian angel is helpless and can only watch and maybe drop words of comfort and gently remind you in a sweet whisper that you are fucked my friend. You texted me that it started with awareness that your pill box organizer is not lying. Not that the medication is gone or forgotten but each container labeled with each day of the week is still full. It’s just not the loss of time but the loss of days. Is that right Frank?”
Again Frank nods yes. His hand trembles while still holding the ice cube.
“Frank, there are no magic beans here that is going to cure you. It’s a sad affair my friend. What can I do now while you are still cognitive?”
Frank’s eyes wonder over to the woman cashier as the line of customers grows while waiting for a table. He avoids eye contact with me as the truth of his situation becomes a reality.
Frank becomes aware that he is still holding the cube of ice.
“Frank look at me, what can I do to help you?”
Franks eyes tears up. He clasps his hands so tight that his knuckles turn white. Frank doesn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken. The tapping of his foot grows louder from underneath the table and suddenly stops. Franks face becomes blank and pale as his emotions fade away. Receding and lost in the chasm of his mind, his soul is swallowed by the blackness of thought. Frank then disappears from the table leaving me to sit alone at the restaurant.
Somewhere in the Sahara Desert, The Pause That Refreshes.
I have had great adventures, and I will have adventure yet to come !
You know the kind~
An unusual and exciting, typically hazardous experience
I will be confident, courageous and daring.
Being defiant, fearless and foolhardy with nothing to regret on surfing this life’s trip✨
Because to be routine is just a crime
To be accepted and accustomed and chronic in my everyday life
Means I have to be normal, ordinary, plain and unremarkable….. And that would surely be the end of me
Exposure and Other Worldly Morsels 