Memento

There is a delicately planted lipstick kiss mark on the rearview mirror of my truck. It arrived a few weeks ago from a dear friend of mine, who I can just picture as she smacked her kisser together with a nice shade of Burt’s Bee Balm and was perfectly poised before planting a reminder for me on what I would have thought was entirely too dirty a surface. In her defense, love knows no boundaries, which applies even to muddy mirrors and parked vehicles.

At this point, the balmy reminder is slightly coagulated and speckled with the remnants of brazen little bugs that dove head on at 65 mph into my memorabilia, only to discover the sticky surface too late. I'm going to leave it there – and what a great token it is.

I’d contemplated a visit to the car wash because the postal delivery lady was kind enough to put on e of those nifty 50% off coupons in my mailbox. However, after I did the calculations on my would-be savings, I’ve decided that my smooch is worth more than the $4.28 credit that I’d have in my bag.

I laughed this morning to the idea of this little muse of mine, jaunting through the side yard and curiously contemplating how she’s leave her mark on my world while I was away. These moments; those actions – come at precisely the right time in a life that sometimes is too rushed to gather your breath from. So little red-headed muse – THANK YOU!

You mean the world to me.

The Hourglass

February of 2006 delivered a lyrical blow with the release of Cowboy Mouth’s Voodoo Shoppe CD. Every note, each word, I swear was targeted at me and if ever I dreamed to purge my emotions of the black-hole voids, it was then. And purge I did! The love of my life (who, I might add is not crazy) stood beside me as I landed stage side, rocking the stones right out of my costume jewelry rings and mutilating the semi-precious metals because of all my beat, beat, beating on the sub-woofers. That concert rocked my soul in early 2006; I was alive!

And now, September 2010 as the summer draws to an end, this surging desire rears again. This time though, with Zac Brown Band’s fall release of “You Get What you Give,” CD and particularly, the “Let it Go” track. Repeating over and again in my environment, the “let it go” phrase and ideology reverberates through every waking moment and interrupts my subconscious while I sleep. Tonight marking the Autumnal Equinox and a very full moon, I'm prefacing all thought patterns and emotive reactions with the tide receding; finally. It’s clear skies ahead and full intention of loosening my grip.

I do feel however, that with the heavy-handed suggestion of “just let go”, there should come a warning. Something akin to: “Not as easy as it sounds”; or “Expect a ration of retaliation”, or “internal combustion may occur if occupant happens to be a Type-A personality”. Something.

Mid-month September marked the New Moon, a phase that I was sure would linger longer with the coming of dreams, the going of nightmares. It seems to have been short-lived given the knock-about I’ve endured these last two weeks. Though it is suggestible there may be a reasoning there too. I don’t know. I was pretty certain that a weekend at a cabin in Vermont with the leaves changing, the smell of apple cider in the air and my best lovey, would cure my heartache, but…

I'm processing.

That’s what it is. Processing.

Similar to that little hourglass symbol that comes up on your screen when you’re waiting for the next function to take.

Processing.

I did purge again recently, actually am in the process of purging to take it a step further. This here and now involves a conundrum of empathy, memories, intentions and a boat-load of “Yes, but why…” questions. That. Needs to stop. Let it go! Then I recollect – thinking of the times spent in sessions, sitting, waiting, wishing (again, to quote a musician with lyrical mysticism). Sitting, waiting, wishing. And all that time spent in an oversized, stuffed chair with a delicate golden-weave and a fifteen dollar co-pay – well, I thought it counted. Maybe in some sense of the “process” it does count – but right here and now it doesn’t feel like that.

I think of the purging as if a vomitorium; in layers. Or a timeline. Peeling back the layers of stuffed baggage, and damage, and …crud, is no easy feat. And I actually enjoy picking through what others might consider “garbage” – that whole trash/treasure idea you know. This one though, aye. This purging situation leaves much to be desired and actually, I think it’s given me an ulcer, a headache, and has most-definitely affected my sleep patterns.

So, as long as we’re on this musical road to recovery, I’ll leave you with the mental picture of Ray Lamontagne’s verbiage: “I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest and said ‘Do your best’”.

I don’t think they have the moxy, to tell the truth.