The Wind-Clock Ballet

i'm sitting here listening to Ryan Adams' Hard Way To Fall with the first tentative breezes of Spring blowin outside/inside my soul, a new feelin surgin through the air, a new sense in the sunlight as it lights the land in new hues, a new chapter cut in soil and peculating 'neath winter's dead dreams now feedin the new dreams of the children of the land as they wait to bloom from the dark womb of beginning.

now the Band's version of Tears of Rage is on and thoughts turn to basement gigs--remember Matt & Chili? that night our guitars howled in mourning entwined with Chili's voice, Children of Haight, how it reached its preordained spontaneous crescendo, sending that moment named Jerry Garcia back to the Unborn Great Beyond a few short hours later, one last blazing farewell before departing. and he died with a smile on his face. "and life is brief," (just played over the stereo--synchronicity alive and well, as It's All Over Now, Baby Blue comes on . . .)

Yes--it's all connected, whether you want to admit it to yourself in night's darkness or not. every day i live, every breath i take is a conformation of that shining fact. the universe is an immense clock ticking away eternity, and everything it holds are the gears that run the daylight through our souls. and God is the coo-coo sounding out high above. quiet the noise of your brain and get in sync to its hidden rhythms played out all around as the stars and planets and moons dance and circle high above and all around. Do the cosmic dance till the wind collects your bones and blows the dust back to the Earth's black womb.