Passages

Summer, summer, summer time. In my mind there are lots of lines that remind of the summer time. Or, more immediately, of how it has moved behind me, the fall winding down. The snow on the ground, here and there but not for long. Until the temperature drops and it sticks around.

While I could mourn for summer, I am looking forward to many things about the coming winter. Slow snow falls in the quiet of the night. The underglow of the city lights on clouds of grey. Piles of blankets and good books. Cold walks around the lake.

Hello winter.

And now for something completely different.

I recently heard the classic Mrs. Robinson by Simon and Garfunkel and thought to myself, “What if a goth/death metal band had written the lyrics to the song?” I know, you all have probably thought the same thing! Now, I totally dig the original. It is probably somewhere in my top “x” number of songs. I also totally dig satire. Here is my pass at a line by line rewrite (disclaimer – strong language ensues):

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I was reading through some of my old writing and came across a piece that quoted Charles Dickens at the end.

Have a heart that never hardens, a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.

I find a great deal of meaning in that particular passage right now in my life, but am also intrigued by how it meant something completely different to me at the time I used it. Intrigued by how I can internalize it so completely at different points in time in radically different ways. Items like Tarot cards and the like can be used as tools of self discovery. Ways to bring into the light that which burdens your mind, heart and soul at any given step along life’s journey. I think that each and every sight, sound, smell, taste and touch can be seen as tools of self discovery. Ways to gauge meaning and gain clarity. Ways to measure the shifts we make as we grow and learn and change from who we were to who we are.

An open mind needs no key.

Many times I find myself with the desire to write stories. Sometimes I want to write novels; sometimes short stories. Usually, this compulsion is followed by a short burst of creativity and an indeterminate number of words. These beginnings of, to date, unfinished stories beg for closure but I can never muster the energy to finish them to one degree or another. Maybe I’ll find someone who needs ideas or starting points and we can collaborate. Maybe I’ll end up finishing one or more of them in the future. Maybe I’ve already spent as much time as I desire on them and they are complete in that regard. Perhaps posting them here will help me figure out what to do with them, if anything.

In any case, it seems I’ve discovered what my next post should be.