April 6, 2009… on the way home from Pangea, I took a taxi over the Williamsburg bridge. I noticed five blocks into the ride that the driver was a man of dark skin, tight curls – an Afro. He was on his phone, speaking in a foreign dialect, I took note. I listened through the airwaves, but my attention was diverted to the sidewalk, I took small glances from time to time. I was sure, that this man was speaking in one of many African tongues. Here she was again, Africa, showing her self to me. Everywhere I look I see her, every time I listen, I hear her. Africa, she’s been on my mind. Africa, is calling me, and this has always been on my mind.
I contemplate for the remainder of the ride. Only pictures, no sound, accompany my rambles of memories, and knowledge. And I come to this conclusion, that here I am, the rider, in his petit-bourgeois attire, paying his fare – a luxury for even many of the petit-. This “learned”, polite, albeit snobbish, more “modern” version, in my case black, has been whisked away. And what do I do with this? I don’t know… go to Africa?
Hosanna!, Blessed Be the Rock! [Lindsay’s, tirade against the church and its heisting of the divine connection to energy – to life!]
Here is your single’s love horoscope for Sunday, April 5:
Everyone else seems to have received the owner’s manual to life but you. Sure, your friends seem happy with the kids, the cars, the spouse and the white picket fence, but their lives are not perfect. Remember, there’s a payoff to everything. Nobody gets out of life Scott free.
This new age of consciousness isn’t about what you do. The new age consciousness is what you know. Because, whether you know or not, the reality still is. “The Truth”, that is out there, exists, regardless if you think it or not. That’s why we are on this cyclical process, because we don’t know “The Truth” enough, or not enough of us, know, that there is something peculiar about realizing that – change the events, the weapons, and the clothing, and these things have all happened before. Like the round about way of the seasons – spring will come again, the geraniums, pansies, and daffodils will bloom just as they did last spring, but something about all of them is something different – no two look the same.
And now, I have summoned Gerry Sweetman’s spirit, let the words flow freely. When I was a young man I gave up on believing in Love, and then I began to codify it. I didn’t love it, I didn’t hate it… I was indifferent, just something that needed to be done. The rest of the world wont always understand this, well I’m sorry, things be the way they be. And now, I elevate the kin of slave’s tongue, to reference, a definitive moment in history/life, that seared through to brand the memory.
Let that be known.