This morning I found my neighbor walking up and down the courtyard, loosely following a grid pattern. It is August, but she was wearing a Winter coat, which was totally justified; it's cold out there at the moment. As it turns out, she was looking for dog shit. Not just any, but the shit deposited by her own dog, Maya. Sometimes it's difficult to keep track. She was out there for quite some time, and I'm not sure she ever found it. This has happened to me before, but after a few minutes, I give up. Dog shit helps prevent kids from playing in the courtyard and making a lot of noise on these Summer nights.
I'm listening to Yael Naim's Paris at the moment.
Ever since I gave up the Vicodin and got out of the hospital, I've been a little depressed. That's natural, I suppose, given that I was taking enough of that stuff to kill a panda. Instead, I'm cramming tramadol down my yap, along with lorazepam, and that is helping. I've been sleeping a lot.
Now I'm listening to La Goualante De Pauvre Jean sung by Edith Piaf.
These days, despite the various and sundry problems with drugs and mental illness, I'm pretty happy. Although I do have my eyes firmly set upon the Void. It's hard to ignore it, like sitting by the sea. You have to look up every once in a while and take it in. I'm always doing that. Looking within or without at the Void that underlies life itself. I'm transfixed by it. Once you get that way, it's impossible, or near impossible (I don't know how) to get your eyes back onto life. The world is full of people who suffer from a terminal illness. It amazes me how many of us can look past that, and find (usually via ambition) something else to ogle and consider endlessly. I lack that ability. Perhaps I was out of school that day.
Last night the light, cool breeze moving through the trees, the starry sky turning beyond, and Linda and I in what felt like the beginning of it all. I'd like to know what it feels like to hear and feel that breeze, as it moves through you and the trees, and all those little leaves moving and whispering, and feel the presence of something more. Although, even when I know there is nothing more out there, It's still quite beautiful.
A quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.