Thursday, February 4, 2010


I sit in a corner of a room that feels warm and inviting. There is one window facing west and from my viewpoint, all I see is sky with some floating clouds and a hint of sunshine. I don't want to get up and interrupt this feeling so I continue to look around. There is a rectangular wooden table that takes up most of the space and I'm aware of how much I like the scent of pine.

I could stay in this room forever--feels like a late Sunday afternoon in August. I get a slight chill from the air outside but it suits me just fine. I'm not alone. Johnny Cash sits at one corner of the table with a guitar on his lap, his arms outstretched and hands folded. I've never seen hair so black, so velvety. I gather he's in his thirties here. He looks quite sharp and calm. He stares at June who sits right in front of him. Thank goodness for June. She knew how to take care of him. She knew how to love him. What a poet. What a man. I can't help but hear his music in my head. He was so real, so dark and broken. Musicians are the innovators of this world.

I notice Cobain and Zappa at the table as well sitting on the left of June at some distance. They discuss a chord change. Zappa says something obviously eye opening because Cobain suddenly looks up, one brow lifting, amused at the idea he hadn't thought of himself. Zappa is something else, even here among the others. He's always so strong, so sure, and unwavering. He's always one step ahead, a genius and a rock god.

Cobain's blond hair is a nice contrast to Cash's and Zappa's. He's still twenty seven and I can't believe I'm older than he was when he passed!! It's all so so strange. I recall the number of dreams I'd had of Kurt after his death. I still wonder whether he actually took his own life. In one of my lucid dreams, we were sitting in a bar. I could smell the stench of smoke, its heaviness, how it saturated everything. Cobain looked pasty white, his eyes full of sparkle and glitter but void of any kind of real light, a sort of dull display of a man that wasn't. It just seemed as though his light was trapped from behind the eyes. I sensed the cold coming off his body although he wore a long brown coat to keep himself warm. I remember saying, They say you could have been murdered. He lifts from his chair, his face approaching mine, his lips aiming for my right ear and whispers, That was the mocking bird, with the most disconcerting smile.

I notice Joan of Arc. What a presence. And oh how young! Her sword sits to the right of the window on the floor like a beacon. I wonder how Joan's small frame could carry the weight of such a thing. The sun shines through the clouds like some eager lover and then settles in nicely lighting everything up, creating some dancing shadows on the wall as well. Everyone's eyes are fixed on how spectacular the sword shines. I can't help but feel Joan's courage and strength and how crazy and frightening her journey must have been. Here, she sits quietly meditating on some spot on the floor and not too far from her armor.

Brandon Lee, standing silent and pained with arms crossed, stares aimlessly out the window. His eyes are now met by flat rooftops, some shrubs, a few trees and a chirping bird. He's still in costume as Eric Draven from The Crow. It's like he has a hard time parting with it. As Eric, he loses his life and his Shelly on the night before the day of their wedding. He avenges her death as well as his own. I think it's the greatest love story ever told by James O'Barr who is no stranger to tragedy. What's so unbelievable, so heartbreaking is that as Brandon, he too misses the bride that never was. Due to an accident on the set of the movie, he was pronounced dead on March 31, 1993 and was supposed to be married on April 17 to Eliza, just seventeen days later! Brandon is beautiful. I like how his guitar hangs from his side.

Jesus and Gurdjieff are speaking softly because they're the only two aware that I'm even in the room! I'm a little amused by that. I mean of course they know. I can only imagine what they're going on about, the way they communicate with their eyes. I can't even say I'm impressed, maybe a little jealous. I'm through with figuring out riddles and deciphering messages. At least that's how I feel right at this moment. Tomorrow may be different.

George Harrison and St.Teresa of Avila are here as well but they come and go like fleeting thoughts. Some day soon, I'll focus and devote an entire page to each but as for now, The Fourth Way is pressing hard upon my mind. It's time to rethink a few things.

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