Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Hypnagogia
Was it that old fraud Carlos Castaneda whose brujo, Don Juan, warned his apprentice of the risks of staring at running water? The spirit catches the current and floats away like a twig, like a wisp of algae. If the spirit strays too far, it may never find its way home.
Wind can do the same.
I’m sitting in a car feeling the reality of gravity, my butt, and the vinyl underneath, and I’m thinking of all those other times in cars, and how that same sensation of weight had to have been there before, but it’s never recorded in memory. Few sensations receive such an honor. I can remember, for example, a time when my then-teenaged brother drove us down to some Atlantic beach. The day was warm, the salt air breathed summer. The memory merges with all of my other beach memories of childhood: hot sand beneath me, sun orange against my closed eyelids, tinny music from my green plastic Realistic AM radio from Radio Shack. Shrieks of laughter. The pulse of the surf. And, yes, gravity, as I wriggle my body, trying to hollow out a comfortable bed from the sand.
We’ve crossed the Dumbarton Bridge many times. I can never remember which direction is the toll crossing, but I remember the colored drying pools, the KGO tower, the dry grasses on the eastern hills which flow with the wind making swirls like hair on a dog’s belly.
We missed seeing the dirigible.
Last dirigible to cruise American airspace? The Hindenburg, and we all know that turned out. This time around, things went smoother.
You would think I’d have a better memory for food. I remember the childhood horrors, of course, and I know I’ve blogged that before, too. But what about the good stuff? Let’s see, I remember
the first time I ate rumaki
first scampi
first cantaloupe
first abalone
not all happy memories.
Driving, windows down, it’s sort of like wind and like wind if you don’t pay attention you might suddenly find your spirit quite far from your body.
I remember countless times as a passenger, drifting off to sleep, the road noise would cut in and out with my varying level of consciousness. The little scientist in me took note and was fascinated. The white noise of wind and road had become an instrument to probe the mysterious black box of mind. How could hearing simply shut itself down? But it did.
There’s laughter in the car and now I’m awake. To my brother’s extreme amusement, I’ve fallen asleep using my mother’s ass as a pillow. Now my mother and I are both awake, both grumpy. Are we there yet? No, we’re not there yet. But at least my brother has something to laugh about.
D.
Evocative. You’ve put me into a reflective state. Source aside, I quite like the idea of being carried away on running water. Other things could have the same effect: staring into the fire, the wind (as you say), the surf.
Other natural motions that carry me away: female backsides.