Stream. Of. Consciousness.



I’m watching Rocky and grieving. Sorry. If you want positive, uplifting, inspiring energy, you’ve come to the wrong place. Just being honest.

Marti is in Indiana and we sold Lucy Hill Farm this week. Our little slice of Paradiso. And Inferno. But mostly Paradiso. Seventy acres. A forest. A meadow. A stream. Boxes packed. Furniture given to the kids. I guess I won’t even have a chance to say good-bye. It’s right, of course, and makes sense. We’re 2000 miles away. Nothing but an expense. Can’t take care of it. Never get back there. Plus, farms are for young people. Too much work.

I’m here in Los Angeles with the dogs and they don’t know what is going on, but they suspect something is up. Like me, the dogs would rather go north to Big Sur and Carmel and Monterey, but tonight they’re looking at me the way Adrian looks at Rocky. Loving. Caring. Bemused. Confused. Homeless. That’s how I feel today. Homeless. How does that happen?

I’m taking the road less traveled, but what about the other road? How do you feel about the road not taken? The relationship you left? The job turned down? The broken heart that never mended?

Even when you know it’s the right thing — you’re done, it’s over, completely wrong for you, something better will come along — you still grieve. Loss is loss, and it doesn’t matter if it is rational or irrational, your choice or the choice of another. Our first Labrador, Lucy, is buried at the beginning of a trail that leads through the woods, past dogwood trees and redbud trees and maple trees that turn so red in the fall that from a distance they look like they’re on fire.

Friday is my day off, whatever that means, and I took it today. I haven’t spoken to another person all day. Me and the dogs. That’s it. Solitary confinement. I’ve been reading. Writing and thinking. Grocery shopping. Cheese Shop in Silverlake. And now I’m watching Rocky. There was a lot more yelling in Rocky I than what I remembered. Paulie. Adrian. Mick practically begged Rocky to be his manager.

I’m thinking that Rocky could have stayed at the slaughterhouse the rest of his life. He was big enough and strong enough. And it was secure. Employment for the rest of his life.  What made him think he could fight Apollo?

In the ring. Take a chance. Life changes. Chance and Change are twins like Cuff and Link. No guarantees, of course. You say good-bye with not a hello in sight.

Have you ever wondered: What in the world am I doing?

That’s Rocky. That’s where I am today.

I’ve concluded that we Take a Breath because we don’t know what is next. And in between one breath and another breath, one breath and another breath, one breath and another breath, the piano notes from the Rocky soundtrack drop like oranges to a tile kitchen floor. And God works. And God. Works. And we breath. And God works.

Bono once said that his two favorite songs were: Amazing Grace and Help Me Make It Through the Night. I vote for the latter.

God works. We breath. And we yell for Adrian. Oh my, there are so many different ways of praying.




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