Hey Kiddo,
I hung some pictures. You probably are aware of that, though.
I was telling sis about my pal Rusty Jackson, who I'd met through Andrew Libby. Rusty was in the hospital when I'd left for Europe in 1987. He'd written a poem called "El Lobo Knows" and when I was en route to Freising, I saw a small box structure in a field with "El Lobo" spray-painted on it. I found out that Rusty had passed on April 10, the day I landed in Amsterdam. He'd always wanted to see Europe and I think he was with me while I was there.
Similarly, although you may not be incarnate currently, I feel you with me. Part of this is simple wishing, part of this is grounded in the felt sense that we - what we really are - as patterns of events eddying and flowing amid other patterns of events are not as discrete as we would like to think, through experience as individuated personalities. As such, we are never separate nor have we ever been.
Following are the big paintings, all of which we all know well. I wanted to put these up because they're beautiful, but also because your house feels more like you with them hanging. I'm back in Belmont as I write this and I'm missing my girl. On the one hand, you're very much with me. On the other, there's the absence of your presence.
Below are a couple of arrangements. Next time I'm down, I'll try to capture more of where everything is situated (as though you don't know...)
Again, you know what your yard looks like. But it's so peaceful, I had to share with everyone else.
...and your guys, duuuuuh.
Cute enough? But of course!
Okay, love. I gotta call it a night. I have one more post I want to do for you, but I have to scan a photo to do it, soooo, a little patience. You and I, we have all the time. All time.
Your guy.
P.S.
Here are some drawings from the back yard (I think Tina liked the last one best). Anyway, your garden is a peaceful respite and I'm glad Rich wants to keep the house and make it available for all who know you.
Over and out for now,
Your J.
No comments:
Post a Comment