Shades of White

I saw different colors, you saw many shades of white. Lean toward the light.

In a world where the things you don’t see share your life with the most intimate relations, and where you look a man in the eyes and know he’s human, there blows a breeze that reminds us of other places, other lives, of fisherman sweating in dugout canoes for their families, of the plaid clothed skateboarders stroking infantile mustaches in Brooklyn, of the leather tanners stomping in colorful vats in a Moroccan downpour. It can carry you as far as you’ll go.

If everything is perception and perception is your own, forever your own, internal, malleable, bending the light toward your own eye, then it can indeed lift you for eternity or just a day. You say that there are some facts, some tangible things we all hold and know the spirit of, the things we base education and conversation on; the international situation, desperate as usual, and the Macintoshes of the Berkshires, and the color of clear sky, but I’m turning toward you now and saying, “That is bullshit”. That is a wonderfully comfortable illusion that at some point, freedom of soul and of vision can overcome and release a person from, beyond and beyond, toward dissolution into molecular omnipotence.

Tangiblists; float away, please! Come back renewed with eyes wide like Whitman!

Hold time, our favorite illusion, in a firm fist and squeeze the juice and pulp. And yes, no revelations here, not anything that the illuminated mediums have overlooked. Well documented and published por supuesto. But look at linear time and admit that possibly, as you’ve known it, it is a fear driven march toward death. “I have 72 years on this Earth and every tick of the clock is a minus sign”. Something like that. That is our motto and we’ve stuck to it, for worse.

What if time was a blending of the wisdom of ages, of connectivity between salt and rocks and fossils and us, of breath and smiles and wet kisses and sweat, of cloud bursts off the coast of Africa quenching distant cracked lands, of life continuing as it has, of whatever you want it to be as long as its yours, as long as its ‘hands’ are waving at you hello in the morning and goodbye after the last drop of whiskey. No fear, like the tee shirts or the socks. No limits and uncarved, an infinity pool overflowing, like your soul as it was before you learned.