“Lost in the foggy forest trinity,
I say the words unheard,
My writings are holy ephemeral,
My vision a crippled bird.”
WRITER'S RAMBLE IN OCTOBER
The magic of technology; you know, all of it- the television, the mobile phone, the Internet, the microwave oven, the hand-held device of every make and such, the damn laptop I’m typing on, you get the point!
I would rather wake up in the dark of the early morning here in the Ozark hills and forests and feed my horse and llamas and then with a favorite dog or two take my stroll along the rippling banks of the creek and watch the sunrise as a red-tail hawk dips and dives and soars along in the sky above us. October morning crickets still talk their lingo, the water song is an ancient sonata, the rocks shine and glisten as they have for a billion years, the bluebird readies for his departure, the cardinal bird says goodbye and good luck, -for he is staying once again to survive out the winter, the reptiles are settling in for their long dormant slumber, the flowers still bloom but they know it is for a final time, the wind begins to arrive from the north to northwest, the sun sets sooner, the grasses show a brownish hue, a person smiles sadly as he ambles and feels a tight ache in his neck and shoulders knowing the dampness is reminding him that he is getting ‘that’ much older, the dogs bound and run along before one as the moist leaves of the trees everywhere show their newest colors in the dawn’s autumn sunlight, -it is the dance of the seasons! It is ok. Some people may be tired of me writing about the seasons, and the outdoors, and the bubbling waters of my creek! I say, ‘Go to your office job and enjoy your clock-watching!’ I am alive and free in my middle-age! I may be poor but I am much richer than you will ever be.
‘I was so much older then. I’m younger than that now!’
–David Crosby (THE BYRDS)
I have sat and stood and talked with great men. I have camped by the edges of Moody Creek, Missouri. I have shared stories by the roaring fire of the rock-circle, I have passed around the bottle and pipe, I have laughed and then listened to more dramatic conversation, I have bonded with people as friends, -‘real’ friends! I have wondered why I did not do what I am now doing a very long time ago, I have slept with tawny lions and danced with the goats, I have played my guitar in my cut-off jeans as the coyotes sang along, I have dug a grave or two for a beloved animal, I have driven a tractor and then knew to get off before I damaged it, I have tossed square bales of hay with the younger boys and then hurt mightily the next morning because of it, I have listened to the baseball game on the radio near midnight in the still Missouri night, I have made love with the swans, (and the geese too), I have talked to the 2AM sky above and begged for a shooting star, I have read Jack Kerouac’s novel ‘BIG SUR’ aloud to myself in my ‘famous’ writer’s retreat –‘The Chicken Shack’, I have chased down an American Black Bear up on a hill near my property armed with only a digital camera, (I had a zoom lens) I have stared at the afternoon sky with buddies and knew a tornado watch was imminent, I have screamed in pain and giggled with the loons, I have wadded in the water and watched wild turkeys, I have ridden my horse and sipped ‘moonshine’ refreshments, I have fired my shotgun to the empty sky, I have angered some people and made some people laughed till they cried, I have listened to Bob Dylan, Mozart and Hank Williams Jr. too, I have lived (just about) everywhere in America at one time or another and still don’t know exactly why, I have found my soul and my being and my heartbeat in the Ozarks of Missouri, I have passed out drunk and then slept with the llamas in the hay piles of the barn, I have fished in the spring-fed creeks and rivers, I have played my electric guitar by the rivers of ‘Elijah’, I have heard the blue tick hound dogs chasing down a raccoon in the wee hours of a drunken night, I have paddled my canoe with the ghosts of the great Osage Indians, I have crushed a million empty beer cans in my palm, I have handed money to someone who really needed it, I have slept with my Yorkshire Terrier pal in my arms, I have read Thomas Wolfe aloud to country boys, (Look Homeward Angel) I have pissed in the fields of glory, I have waited for the rain to come, I have waited for the sun to rise, I have waited for this world to be what it really should be…
I am only a pilgrim. Forgive me.
-RSC, Elijah, Missouri.
October, 2009.
A place to come to and write. A place to come to and create. What does the banker, the politician, the business owner, the doctor, the teacher, the lawyer, the plumber, the authoritarean leave behind? There is, of course, the legacy of their life's works, -whether it be a proud and profound one or an accomplishment of vile misdemeanor and mistakes. All peoples leave a certain 'mark' or legacy of their existence. This is without a doubt. But, it is the 'ARTIST' that leaves an unmovable 'impact' on mankind, womankind, society and the world in general. There is no greater hold on the act of human development than that of the interpretation of an artist's work! Poetry, sculpture, written essay, the painting, the sketch, the bounded pages of a novel extend more to the evolution of the human being throughout history, the present and the future before us than that of any other person's deeds and works delved into in the span of a lifetime. The artist gives up society and the favors of a 'normal' lifestyle in return for the journey towards a heart-held dream. Most people will not allow themselves to endure for very long all that a 'true' artist must commit himself or herself to. It means falling into a hole that only the 'milky way' or a butterflies wings can lift one out of. It means never releasing their grasp on the dream of creation without the resulting exposé of possible success. It means accepting all that is raw, naked and ugly about life and this abused earth. It means transforming that perpetual clog of waste and filth and showing it to others as a map to a better future and the glitter of a rainbow's end that waits for one and all. It means explaining to most the warmth of the flame and not the burning of the fire. It means to dance on the surface of the moon rather than simply staring at the fullness of it in the clear, star-bountiful sky. It means to face-off with God and let the angels either embrace you or hang you! It means being an 'ARTIST'.
