Well, thank the goddess that’s done. Let’s move on. Think of other things. Celebrate the cool breeze coming in through the window.
Listening to the blues….
Think, if you will, of railroad tracks that spread over hundreds of miles to form a giant V. Travelling this track you can expand yourself over valleys and mountains before you find the musty depths of the Fraser River Canyon. Get off and find a spot where you can inhale the scent of pine needles scattered on the dry earth. In the late summer heat they will have picked up a telling spice of expectation, as if at any minute they will start to pop, desperate to turn themselves inside out.
Wait for the first sensation to be pulled into you by the drone of the harmonica, which has itself been unfurled from the distant creak of a rocking chair. (The old man who sat there once had lived long enough to find the rhythm of acceptance, and he died with a smile).
And now that you’re here, I’m telling you, you can let go. Let go and move the way they always said you shouldn’t. Pretend this music is the strong, gentle fingers tugging at the fear of your body’s potential for pleasure. Set yourself loose the way a cat would stretch on a flat rock in the sun. Lean way back and let the light fall over you and then sink in, the yellow warmth on your face and arms, your stomach. Meanwhile the stone is pressing softly against your spine, like a curious god’s fingertips reading the Braille of your bones.
Think of nothing.
The long, lonely pluck of this guitar string will vibrate inside your body for a full hour, slowly growing stronger as the hum becomes low and choppy. Now there is a friction in your flesh like marbles turning inside a warm palm. If you resist the fear that will want to lead you to distraction, you will find yourself churning blissfully toward a precipice of knowing.
(songs: Lucky 13 (Slide guitar) by Gashouse Dave/Desolation Blues by Gilbert Yslas)
Twilight Scrawls by Kirstin Maguire
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