Desert winds woke me at 3am. I heard them swirling all around my cocooned round home. I could hear them flicking their windy tongues through the swamp cooler and down the chimney. I wasn't afraid in the darkness.
I awoke to their swirling in the bright 6:30am light. I turned over, snuggled under the soft blanket and told myself that my fear was an illusion. I thought of a man's hand in a box. Itching, turning red, burning, clumps of flesh falling off it. I recited with him the Litany Against Fear. My fear - the illusion I believe in - passed through me. I remained.
So too, remained the winds blowing blustery. I know these winds. The last time I remember the ferociousness in the desert was almost 10 years ago. A remote location. The last time the Old Prospector and I camped together. It was Christmas I think. I don't miss him much, but I do miss what we were able to do together. Damn we were good together.
I have returned to an old practice. My movements are rusty. In my mind, I think of the spaces, the people I learned from. Mostly in the Bay Area, sometimes Westwood, Redondo Beach, the back patio of my Berkeley House, the Tango studio, the Art studio in the mission, and how could I forget the Barstow Motel, with it's all night train clanging. The clucking hens. I was then, and still remain, the young hothead. Although I am not as young. Someday, when I have my own grey, I may teach these to young hothead of my own.
I know these winds. Damn, I've missed their blustery ways. In a fit of abandon, or maybe nostalgic memory, I call upon an old old friend. A tricky friend who has caused much mischief in my life. Still, I love him dearly. I send him on an errand. It could backfire. I half expect it too. Perhaps I'm more interested in how he's going to shoot it back on me, o tricky fellow I have come to love.
That's ok. I'm in line with that. The trickster is the easiest one to trick.
I check myself. I have not just regained, but more than surpassed my skills of a decade ago. Despite forgetting past expertise, newer skills retain power. I have been learning my latest, very fresh. It's unbelievable that my teacher literally came to my door. I don't have to leave my house to learn - but I stopped believing in the impossible years ago.
With my triumvirate, I discover the missing piece. Right in front of my face.
I refuse to feel the pity my ego presses on me in these moments. The waste of years, trying to live a normal life. And utterly failing. Worse than failing, forgetting what I knew. What matters now, is that I'm here. And I can begin, anew.
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