Thursday, September 07, 2006

Goodbye Pork Pie Hat

(This letter to the man in the moon first appeared at The Blue Doodle on August 12.)

* * *

Dear Moon,

You blow like a clear chord on a bamboo rod, full of sweet and sour lonesome like a scripture on a foggy day yet you are fragrant as incense and the laughter of a wise old woman.
Maybe you know what it’s like, when you open your fingers and take a breath and the song comes, or when you put the nib of your pen on paper and the ink spills out leaving lyric everywhere.

That feeling of landing where you belong and breathing pure inspiration - this is everyone’s birthright. The empty backdrop of our mind is all possibility. Form emerges from possibility and returns, coming from zero and then back again, back where the tune goes when you stop singing. Every line rhymes with silence. Then we look at you, Uncle Moon, and you seem to confirm all of this; you remind us of what we are, so we presume on your presence and call you “muse.”

Let me blow some chords here in tribute to you. Words are just so many fingers dancing on the neck of my bass. Let’s take a trip together and reunite music and ear. We’ll make everybody’s head nod with the pulse, and inwardly they may hope we never come back from the moon, yet you know and I know:

You’re always around.

Your son,
Mingle-dingle

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