Tears well as a tsunami of emotion rises in me threatening to break through my skin and fill the world. All it takes is a song, a word, a memory - and I rumble like an earthquake down where the deep memories live. The power of it is something I often prefer to avoid. The reminders can shake me to my core. The memory and emotion seem so much greater than myself. I struggle to contain them. I have to remain watchful or I'll be overwhelmed. I fear that I might lose myself, the flood might carry me away, that if I ever start crying I may never stop.
I think of a million ancient tears, and how they ride, Just beneath the surface of my leathery hard and horny hide. We all just floating through here folks, We all just floating thru. * from Floating by Randall Allen Shields
Flower Power, universal brotherhood, the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, return to the Garden of Eden, love between my brothers and sisters all over this land.
If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.
I can't help sometimes performing archaeology on myself, sifting down through the strata of remembered experience, working painstakingly through the accumulated detritus of the years, examining remains and memory fragments, reassessing the record, seeing if it makes any more sense in retrospect. Sometimes I think it does and sometimes not. It's a sad fkn tale. That much I know.
YouTube VideoRemember that extraordinary feeling that we could make the world a better place? It bloomed in millions of hearts and then died slowly.
I remember how it felt to dream of peace, to demand justice...and expect it. How easy it was then to look forward to a day when wrongs would be righted and peace would rightfully reign. Those dreams seem like cruel delusions now. To expect better, I suppose, was foolish.
