Happy trails to you, until we meet again, Happy Trails to you, keep smiling until then” Dale Evens 

The full moon rises over Oakland for the first of what will occur twice this month; an event that gave rise to the term “once in a blue moon”. Equal to the auspiciousness of the occasion and the imminent encounter I don my spectators and meet my Muse Lisa for a late lunch in the cavernous auditorium sized dining room at Skates on the Bay.

The Bloody Marys lubricate us and we relax into a conversation that has lift, transporting our words that waft up to the cathedral high ceilings and rather than vaporize, linger and fill the space. We burn, boil over, relax and start again. The guests at adjoining tables catch wind of our words, not often heard, and holding their own conversations cheap, crane their necks in wonder.

Our lives skip across the surface of deep water like a flat stone tossed in hope of a brief sight of amazement, touching down only occasionally for a split second when we meet a kindred soul and then lift and skip away again; magic moments when we share our mind dreams, a respite from the ship of fools on our stormy seas. She is all burning heart flowing molten with truth and beauty blazing blue with stories that match my own; an unanchored simpatico connection lay between us.

We are served the finest view available anywhere in the world, surrounded with picturesque scenes of the Golden Gate Bridge shadowed in fog as the waves plot their endless march to the shore, a perfect backdrop for our spiritual, intellectual discourse that has the body fat of a ping-pong ball. We see-saw back and forth like great sex. The pleasing waitress offers us one grand and delicate portion of our feast after another; yet the food fades to insignificant as we gift each other with secrets of heart-felt honesties old and new.

We are separated by many decades but as we share our first grand revelations of consciousness they merge into one and we are uncommonly similar. Her first came when reading Siddhartha, the story of the prince who would become the Buddha, and how, upon learning of his revelation, overwhelmed with compassion, she burst into tears. Though I know her well enough this confession tells me what I instinctively knew she was and it will be this premiere revealing that will stay with me until my day’s end and I remember her no more. 

I tell her of my epiphany, how as a small boy, being told by my mother to finish the last few spoonfuls of porridge in my bowl because children in Africa were starving, it hit me like a scene for a Monty Python comedy where the clouds part and god himself smacks me in the head with a hammer, all I could think was how to get them some food, quick. That one phrase uttered by many of the mothers to their children of my generation probably had more to do with the epic explosion of consciousness that produced the revolution of the 1960’s as anything. 

As my mothers words overcome me and evaporated so did my youthful innocence and at that moment I knew I would never be the same again. How could it be, I would wonder forever more, that I had arrived in this alternative universe, where we look at life as through a windshield and anesthetized by antidepressants and sports, could watch a nuclear explosion from behind our castle walls, only to turn back to our lives as if it hadn’t even happened?

We all exist in a tornado mostly, with events and people and realities coming at us so fast we can’t take responsibility for the meanings we intercept, since so much is coming at us at once. My television tells me to acquire the newest electronic communication device that is not so thirty seconds ago, but so far I have remained a dinosaur in this regard since I reckon the true but strange phenomenon is this; we can only decipher the velocity of modern existence when we slow ourselves and our lives down to zero; only then can we see life at its true blurry Star Wars warp speed.

Nothing spoken, as always, was small or second-rate; rather all proffered was grand and unselfish and spilled over desire for a larger, greater good, not just for us individually, but for us all collectively. The natural progression occurred; reviewing our beginnings, moving to the now, having first thought it and now saying it, we silently promise ourselves to do it. To stay centered in the vortex of the tornado, eyes wide shut, head up, mind engaged, using all our powers and talents and experience to spontaneously in every moment choose the path that will transport our meditative states, gained with each breath, to holy one-love.

To Samadhi; a state of awareness leading to spiritual enlightenment, a place where the mind becomes still, yet concentrated while remaining conscious; an abiding, in which we become perfectly still, and thus become able to see and gain insight into the changing flow of our current experience.

With prayers for guidance on this ominous pioneers uncharted course, we hoped to find the courage to have faith in the distance, to burst forth with chakras aligned, enveloped inside our own personal Kundalini energy; to find that all-out vision of multi-centered universe that gives life to our personal existence, while all the time resisting the Inquisition of the mocking by those who preach cynical cool-out stoicism, knowing that the status quo never wants us to be so free.

We wished to discover; not the correct answer of what we ought to do next, but discover the question we will answer in our own way that will lead us to enlightenment and bliss; simply, silently, chanting our collective mantra; how are we meant to live?

The hours passed like moments and we part in perfection with Olympic size smiles, both soon heading out across America on road trips of discovery; one that will return her to this paradise after being shepherded by her beau to meet his family, while my journey will be one way, putting the West Coast in my rear view mirror and the Great Plains rolling under me like an ocean.  We share the joys and solemn excitements with a certainty that each of our journeys has heart.

Yet, as I start the engine and pull away, despite the knowledge that time and space will not diminish the value of our connection, underneath the zeitgeist laid a solemn sadness, derived from a gnawing anxiety, needling at my heart, knowing that more likely than not, I’d never see her again.


About circusinpurgatory
Nick Masesso Jr’s fictionalized short stories, poetry and prose have been published in the Starry Night Review, Elegant Thorn Review, Language and and Vagabond Press; the Battered Suitcase. His latest book “Armor of Innocence” and first book “Walking the Midway in Purgatory, a Journal” are available on-line and through bookstores.

One Response to Addio

  1. James Mcfarland says:

    Recommend rewrite or editing. A 7.3 rating.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: