Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

"...besides love, independence of thought is the greatest gift an adult can give a child." - Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One

For old quotes, look here.

Saturday, October 18, 2008


Inside the van, we were the center of our universe, me and Bird. Music playing, rain falling, flying through a veil of sparkling, refracted light, gliding, cocooned.

We sang and watched the world flash past.

At a traffic light, a man in a red hat...a fez. Shriner. Pavlovian, I opened the window, waved a dollar at him. I can't spare dollars. But he's a Shriner, and I have to. They did a good turn for someone I knew, long time ago, and I'm paying them back at the crossroads, one dollar, one handful of loose change at a time. He was a layer, spread thin, around our center.

Everything is slow, and we see it all at once, all the moments happening around us swimming through almost amber-thick time/space/perception.

At the light, a police car comes to a stop, middle of the intersection, even as I wave my dollar at the red-hatted man. I cannot understand why he is there, unless it is to ensure I cannot move on until the dollar has been taken. Curious. Lights flashing, all is quiet, except the soundtrack. Love Train, Big and Rich, from the Horse of a Different Color CD. Happy song.

Police car. Another layer, red and blue, pulsing. Rain still falling.

The funeral procession is another layer. It's all simultaneous, us, music, silence, police car in the intersection, police car leading the sad parade, funeral procession, hearse. Bird and I are laughing, the people in the cars passing by are weeping, the red-hatted man is trying to fund new lives, and the police officers are waiting.

Procession past, police care moves on to some the next intersection, leapfrogging another patrol car to someone else's final resting place, and I wonder if they are listening to a happy song or thinking about their own inevitable cortege. Maybe it's just all overtime. The unseen presences behind the strobing light are another layer.

I wonder who died, how old they were, did they like the rain, plan puddle-splashing with their purple-booted child while listening to happy music.

Light changes, we turn left, make for the first stop. Jeff Buckley, singing Hallelujah, from the album Grace. Apropos. I am crying. For this song, I sing, and I cry, every time.

In the parking lot, I hold Bird's hand, turn my face to the rain. I like to turn my face to the rain, pretend it is thousands of gentle kisses from the sky. Rain and tears mingle and are indifferent to each other. He splashes happily in a puddle I parked in (with purpose, mind, as I knew he would like it), wetting my cuffs. I wonder if anyone is witnessing our oddity, feels the joy he radiates, a little sun of happiness. I laugh. He laughs.

The funeral is long gone from sight, but I know they are there. I wonder if they'd like to share a puddle splash, would rather play in the rain than watch someone go down into the wet earth. Do they know he isn't really gone? That by seeing him, they made him part of themselves, took in the particles he emitted and carried them along, passing them about, until he was everywhere and everyone, as are we all? Nothing, no one, ever dies - they may pass from perception, but not from presence.

We are all in the same moment, being; all of us experiencing our multitude of realities.



Jozet at Halushki said...

Love. This. Post.

It must be something in the air, lately.

Fall has a way of rippling the time-space fabric and everyone seems a bit...otherworldly lately.

chris said...

I get into moments like this one when I become aware of everything around me. Capturing this moment and penning it is a sign of an artist.

"thousand kisses from the sky" NICE!

Kyddryn said...

Jozet, welcome - and thanks! Yes, there is someting about Autumn...my favourite season.

Chris, thanks.

Kit said...

Very nice, m'dear!

Debbie said...

Simply lovely. I could hear the rain and feel the sadness as well as the delight in your son. You're a beautiful writer.

Aunt Becky said...

I always cry when I hear that song.

Kyddryn said...

Kit, thanks.

Debbie welcome, and thank you.

Aunt Becky, it's a beautiful song and worthy of a few tears (be it for the beauty or because one knows, to the bone, what he means by "...it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah...".

zenmom said...

Awesome. That was a beautiful post - both in concept and in execution. Brava.

Kyddryn said...

Zenmom, welcome and thanks!