In the
night there is a soft wind, more of a breeze. It goes around the electrical lights
and the large street is busy with a certain hustle and bustle of early summer.
Cars, signage, drive-through places. They have taken down the old burger place,
and this I lament. It was not patronized much by me, as it was out of the way,
and I often, more often than not, forgot about such. But the pastel blue,
broken, and the bricks, broken, and the signs, gone, and so on and on. I opt
for a coffee instead anyhow. Instead of what? Instead of the new, the prosaic,
the modern place. Loud people are around, and engines, but it is just life.
Life at night. The old church is empty, mysterious, and soft lights light up
its area, its perimeter. I think to myself, This little city is older than my
little city. And it is, - more mature, larger trees, a greater diversity of
people and culture, though I would not call it cultured per se, - it is almost,
- or a bit. There is something about it that is not gauche or bric a brac or
showy or vulgar. I realize, upon driving there and getting there, near the old
diners and the little stores, the green hills they have saved, that I am…happy
there. That is what it is. I was in the wrong town all along, - in a way. An empath
can not only feel the place, but in a quite real way…becomes the place, - quite
different than a sensitive. I understand, through being, - that old town- and
somehow know its ghosts and the vague outlines if not the actual secrets that
live there. The sky, - mixed with night clouds and lit up just enough by the
soft yellow lights, - looks on. I can’t see the constellations for the lights,
and feel okay about it. There is that wind again, more of a breeze. To the
north, somewhere, my field sleeps, - but upon it some four legged things surely
walks, curtly and quickly passing by to somewhere else. Nuanced is the
firmament, - with sky, crescent moon, dotted with stars, meteorites, maybe
spirits,surely spirits my friend,- I mean- what are we doing here other than ‘spiriting?’
But the nocturnal is just that, - nocturnal, - and we on this side obey
circadian rhythms adhere to regular customs, - that sort of thing. Maybe our
dreams will be wild, maybe our visions in the astral and akashic shall be what
is feral. Conservative visionary. Rock and roll monk. Suburban mystic.
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