Waiting To Reappear

 I had a state park pass that was stolen, appaently, off the mirror in my van.  It was a LIFE pass, good for geisers, who do not have enough sense to lock their vehicle and leave the pass on display.  A lifetime of state park visits for free.  But, in a rare moment of clarity, the state sent me a new one for free.  They don't do that for the average working class person who can buy one for one year for whatever the cost.  We, seniors, are all going to die soon, anyway, so treasure us while you can, don't steal our passes, and when you run upon us on the trails, passed out on the ground, do not stab us with a trekking pole.  "He's well done.  I wonder where he parked his car?". 

The pass arrived yesterday but only after Nonie approached with a smile and asked me "How much do you love me?".  That being, of course, the moment any husband should take a deep breath and describe his notion of huge in as much detail as he can muster while, at the same time, getting ready for what may follow.  Which turned out to be something very nice.  She found my gold coin in her drawer.  I thought it was gone forever.  Just a tiny Kruggerand 1/10 ounce. But great nostalgic value, bought in 1980, and transported over many living spaces, including Walmart's parking lot, in almost fifty years before it disappeared.  How did it get in her drawer, you might ask.  I may have given it to her to look up something.  That was the first year they made the small slices of an ounce.  It was all I could afford then and it was a time when the world was crashing down financially.  We didn't understand what Volker was doing with his huge interest rate hikes.  Fifteen percent?  Imagine that now and start looking for a cave somewhere.  Matches could be expensive so learn to use flint. 

So on the same day two things I missed returned home!  That rarely, if ever, happens. What does it mean?  It's a sign to folks who believe unseen forces are always trying to reach us for one reason or another.  Like the time I was drinking and ... nevermind.  Karma is a real thing, for sure.  And good karma is better, no kidding.  Although the other is also helpful. 

I don't know how life got so good at this particular moment in time. Could it be geography? Moving out of the city six years ago?  Could it be sobriety? Prayer? Poetry? Kevin?  I don't know.  I believe a good guru is worth a lot.  And this can be a generic term in some regards.  Mentor seems more personal.  Guru can stretch across the world.  Ram Dass and his guy take me back to the seventies and living next to Fenway Park with my dancer.  Mother of two children of mine who went to the Conservatory of Music.  Gardens in the fens?  Anyone? Mickey Mantle.  Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops.  No jobs. 

Now is a good time to dig down below the anxiety of the times, war and social anxieties, to find the memory gems that are buried there.  And write about them if one finds a place to do it. A break from attempts to write poems.  This is the message I got yesterday.  Things are not truly lost. They exist somewhere, joyous, waiting to reappear.

A few weeks ago I began watching videos of Neem Karoli Baba who died on September 11, 1973.  He was known to Americans during that time because of Ram Dass, who was Richard Alpert who worked with Timothy Leary and coordinated the Marsh Chapel LSD experiment in 1962 at Boston University, my alma mater.  Anyway, I have felt his presence since then.  Just sayin...you never know when a great soul will reach out.  It pays to leave your doors unlocked.  Sometimes.