Jazz

The tenor sax sounds cheesy to me. The drum was nice, the guitarist talented, but the bassist. The bassist was incredible. His fingers articulating the giant neck of that gorgeous wooden yacht of an instrument. He was not sexy. But his music was.

Then there was the children, almost mistaken for a woolly sheep racing past the window. Why are there children in the street? It is about 10PM, Central, the old route 66 splitting Albuquerque into southern and northern ventricles. There we are listening to jazz in the tapas bar and here they are small children rustling by on the sidewalk, barely visible through the painted glass windows.

And then there was V. We see her in the bar, after dinner. We've been "friends" for a while but how is it that you can still feel distant from someone who you've known for a while? How is it that someone can make you feel uncomfortable without saying anything at all that should make one uncomfortable? What's the use in being self conscious? What's the use of consciousness of self? Who are we and why do we care what other people think? And why are those small children trampling the sidewalk, and why are they peering through the cloudy windows into a world they cannot be part of? Who are they and why are they here?

Itv

She Said

We make up stories about the people who pass us in the airport.

There is the woman carrying the cylindrical case. Inside was her bow and arrow. She is an acrobatic archer who can swing from a trapeze and hit the bulls eye, under water.

There is the hipster, with the bleached blond hair covering his eyes. He is on his way to NYC. He thinks he's a street artist. His bags are packed with spray paint, stencils and stickers with his tag already printed. He is going to scope out alleys at midnight.

Then the sailors. I am certain I got them correct. On their way to Hawaii, who as my niece pointed out is the Island just visible from the Edisto sound when we were kayaking.

She also noticed the dark clouds, "it's still night over there".

I had a nightmare about the flowers last night. I dreamed they were these spindly orange wild flowers that were supposed to be the hybrid sunflowers. There were only about 25 total of them, not even enough for a bridal bouquet. In the dream you said we could go somewhere else to get more flowers. It was pretty pathetic.

Reincarnation

When I was growing up, my mother passed away, I was about six or seven at the time. Nobody had talked to me about reincarnation, nobody had really even talked to me about death. I was raised Jewish, and as far as I can tell, they don't talk much about the afterlife, heaven and hell. Well, there is no hell if there is no Satan. There is no messiah either, so you can't absolve yourself of your sins and go to heaven. I suppose it is really just up for personal interpretation.

I decided to interpret death as rebirth. Clearly my mother had been reincarnated as the family schnauzer, Plum (or was it Schnapzie or Bozzie? I can't remember.) It didn't seem to matter that Plum was already far into her adult life, that didn't matter in my newly created dogma.

And now in my adult life I have neither rejected nor accepted the idea of reincarnation, now a bit more fully researched to include things like: when you are born again you must inhabit a new body, people are reincarnated as people not animals, maybe there is an end to the cycle of rebirth, and shouldn't there be a problem with overpopulation...? Oh wait, there is.