A Little Night Music
I emerged one last time into the night before going to sleep yesterday… going to bed for the first time, that is. I sat in my blue chair & finished some tobacco. One drop of water fell onto my upturned wrist; Youniverse choosing anonymous me for this gift: water in the desert. I offer thanks for this reminder of my being so beloved. I returned indoors, finished the e-mails & turned out the lights, turned off the radio & thought to go to sleep.
(My dear friend, Becky, has gifted me with a satellite music subscription. I have been listening for days, reviewing my life by means of these musical touch-points at the push of a button. They call it a remote, but it fits my hand like the wand of a conductor orchestrating the world.)
Since music enters the brain architecture in a textured sort of way, it seems to stick to the convolutions most lovingly, capable of not only instant recall, but instantaneous placement in my life-stream. As when my friend Kermit, who plays trumpet, played an old favorite one night, I heard everyone who had recorded it. When he played “Michelle”, I heard only the Beatles.
When I worked atop the third-floor refurbished house in Haddonfield, New Jersey, I listened to classical music all day. On a busy street corner and with many deadlines, Mozart kept me organized & productive.
At my last job in Nashville, Tennessee, I listened to “massage music” all day, Stephen Halpern, R. Carlos Nakai, Peter Kater. These kept me sane under insane conditions.
I could ramble around the radio all night, but I resolutely turned it off & pulled the covers up.
Outside, the New Mexico night tossed in gusty winds. The stars remained invisible, indicating a high thin cloud cover from which that single drop had emerged. Sleepless still at midnight, I rolled from the covers for a cup of chai & some chocolate, as restless as the low trees doing a hula outside. (The Sandman must have delayed his arrival, perhaps sitting on his haunches by the river, breathing.)
For a breath, I opened the bathroom window, the wind being a constant off the Rio Grande at night. I breathed in moisture, a balm to sinuses, throat, lungs. Austin Street glistened in a thin sheen of water, inch-deep puddles in the ruts of a sun-melted roadway. The “walking rain” had hastened by, leaving mostly the perfume of her passing.
I turned on the light, surrendering sleep to the pen rattling atop the notebook in its eagerness to be uncapped, fondled, held forth to leave its own darker gleam across the dry, bright paper. It’s 1:00 a.m. & I begin this blog.
Somewhere along this later way I have turned on the radio again. I know on the inside I only got up to listen to this music some more.
Forgive me if you have read me saying this before. When I was asked once where I hope to “go” when I die, I replied, “to the place of old song lyrics.” The surprised, “Why?!” didn’t catch me unaware. I answered “because then I’ll live forever.”
I write in red ink, mildly annoyed for myself already that I’ll need to decipher this tomorrow, er , later today. If I get up for a black pen I might as well get the computer & I cannot look into that particular Ouija Board right now.
All these words later …
The rain has come & gone. My eyes want to close; Sandman has caught me up now. I still don’t want to turn the radio off.
Good night.
Riding the Light 