A deep slumber would surround me. That would happen after the crash. How many watery deaths have there been throughout history? As gravity would bring one to the inevitable, perhaps it would not even be experienced as falling. The abyss, brilliant and blue, with its spectacular horizontal shadow, was like a solid wall from this perspective. But time goes backwards, now. Then, it is past.
While on the Golden span between Marin and the County of San Francisco with the cold breeze from the Pacific at my back and, as always, the silent moisture hammering home the chill, I saw infinity.
In the beginning there was a spark that brought about the birth of all understanding, and, all that was to be understood. And some time later, humanity came about to experience this. We are all children of the Universe. We all came from that one singular spark.
The clues and the facts may become an obsession. They fold and unfold. Will death bring release?
“The music will drive you out of your mind. Let it. “ -said no one that could be seen as I leaned against the railing that inadequately hindered suicides. Then I turned towards Marina and away from Alcatraz.
It was Marcus. He walked towards me from the other side of the fog that was silently gathering from over the Headlands. “Some truths are universal.”
“How did you know to find me here?” I asked.
“Don’t ask me to explain.” -his deadly smile. Then a forlorn look as he guessed my thoughts, as he always could. “You have not come here to…”
His beauty, at that moment, was staggering. I responded with muteness.
The clouds, as creamy as white frosting can get, as if on a wedding cake, brought about a deliciousness that could be seen. It was a multi-layered day, already. The waves of the Pacific lapped the shore far below, laughing at me. The steel of the bridge, the whisper of the Ocean conspired to define my reality. It was an obsession, meaning, the things that come to light. We find out who we are at our bleakest hour. Banish the darkness with light!
“Time is on your side.” -he said, cryptically. There could be no doubt that he guessed the situation. And, just as suddenly, he disappeared back into the fog which began to suffuse its subterfuge. His riddle of an answer still lingered.
I knew what he was going to say, but didn’t: “Don’t believe the illusion for a minute.” -Like a good mystic. He could explain String Theory if he wanted to. He was that smart. I will always miss him.
“Let set sail the stars and count their progress. Govern the Universe. Into the distance means into the past. And, the past became frozen in time like the banks of a river in December, laden with snow and leaves. But, the stream has not stopped its progress yet.” -I will remember him reading out-loud at City Lights, always. This would be THE bookstore in San Francisco you simply must visit.
And he would have continued had the hecklers not stopped him mid syllable: “Be careful in whom you entrust your memories. And keep them a well-guarded secret.” As the walls have ears in any earthly palace, I would have thought to myself. But that evening became violent. And, I will always remember the crash, the sound with the sensation.
Staggering. The stars recede with the past. Carrying it as their cargo. Like the waves of the ocean -they know no rest.
“How is it all related?” -I almost asked out loud.
“Well, There is the past. And then, there is the part that comes after the past. That’s how every story starts.” -said Marcus from the other side of the fog -from the other existence.
Knowing Marcus was like knowing the soul of the Universe. One didn’t have to talk out loud. He was a good friend to have, to say the least. And he explained Synchronicity. It was part of his writing. The poet, knows it.
All that glitters is not glitter. Temporality extemporaneously. “Drinking at the top of the Mark.” -to paraphrase Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo, a movie that moved me. We can only assume time goes in one direction. Assumptions go as far as all that.
Marcus and I would meet late one day to embark on our journey on a vessel that was not quite ghost ship, but, instead an ancient Chinese Junk. The water was Popsicle Blue, and, the fog was still other-worldly. There are worlds enveloped in worlds. The waves carry us. The laughing Ocean is our conveyance. There was no sun visible through the white thickness. Nor, was the pier visible from the deck of the ship once we were on board that silent day. If it were possible for stillness itself to fill the void, it happened, once and for all.
One would be forgiven for mistaking the experience for that of Death. There are more worlds to explore; existence being more of a journey. The silence was…out of this world as the waves and wind carried us away with the silence of the stars. The Universe plans the itinerary. We are merely conveyed.
It is a puzzle: How life lives us.
“He was inspired by Felice Picano.”, it was said at the memorial. And white Carnations were in abundance -his favorite flower. Perhaps because they are dashing on a tux.
Marcus was as he always was, with the stoicism of an angel. The ropes for the sails were manned by monkeys of a type I had never seen before, golden fur, inquisitive eyes, efficient. And they communicated via synchronicity -pure and simple. Industry was his penchant. By that I mean the industry of ideas. Always, he was stirring the depths. The moiling always brought about, Popsicle Blue.
And this was how Marcus introduced me to, Forever.
-by James Legare
