I’d been cooking in the cosmic kitchen. My stove wouldn’t get hot, my signal was jammed. The wifi wasn’t working and I couldn’t remember the ingredients. You see, I’d been there before but the return trip was not how I remembered it. The recipe consisted of a complex combination, one part classic literature, Dickens I think – A Tale of Two Cities, the scene where the barrel of wine breaks open in the street and the ensuing rivulets of joy are mopped up and consumed in the most delightful ways. Add some jazz records I heard in Berkeley a long time ago that changed the way I listened. The scent of patchouli from the 60’s (can’t believe I used to wear that shit) but at times it did the trick. Add a horrible Hawaiian shirt I’d acquired and would wear to the beer-soaked confines of Askenaz to see “the Natives” churn out their special brand of stew. Light on food but pure nourishment for the soul. That’s some cosmic stew right there. Don’t worry, those who know don’t say and those who say don’t know. My mind floats through decades more suited for improvisation than a web page.
Back in the kitchen the stove is finally hot and I wander and I want, not really hungry but starving all the same. I play the blame game and I burn my hand on a bit of logic I don’t quite understand. I look at my old guitar case that I’ve lugged for 40 years and the smiles and the tears it rendered. Stuck in the past but trying to remain current, I stare out the window. Of the contents portrayed there I’m uncertain of what I see and how to find the right combination of the here and the then, a fusion of Zen that preaches while it teaches and leaves me staring again at the stove. You see the soup we’re making is out of season, best served when it’s cold or better yet, freezing. A chilly gazpacho if you will. I played in a band called “Chilly Gazpacho” for a while back in the 70’s. Well, ok, I didn’t. But I should have. I don’t quite remember the parts, but it starts with a dash of “Hello Mr. Soul” and unnerving as it seems, ends with a pinch of lost dreams. They flee until I see them and try to add them to the mix. If you don’t use enough water it gets too thick and starts to stick. Proper hydration is important, of that we are aware. Viscosities the key. I stare at the blank screen far too often, waiting for the recipe to come. I used to make this soup all the time but the process eludes me. The results of a feud I’ve started with myself in a book there on the shelf of life.