The Doldrums. - There is an area of the ocean called the Intertropical Convergence Zone. It sounds complicated and terribly exotic but isn't really. It is the region rou...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
St. James Infirmary
I didn't know, then, that I was standing in a Louis Armstrong song, a life expiring on a slab. I didn't know where the boomerang of the circular drive would land the body, the procession to the next life.
I did know atonement. Or knew that it was coming.
And then rebirth.
At the same time, a calm. A change. A shudder to slough off the ashes. To make something of my fuck up, if that's what it was.
Standing inside the St. James Infirmary, looking toward the steps I wouldn't walk up again, the blues song had already been written and well trod.
But blue wasn't the mind's mood. I wasn't looking back at the miles on my running shoes. Or the Old Testament. I wasn't thinking about the rock in the woods where I sat reading Beowulf. I wasn't worried about conjugating verbs or dress code or hair length.
I wasn't looking back at the life ending..."Let her go! Let her go! God Bless her...where ever she may be..."
I was looking forward. Consoled now by Satchmo.