Today I couldn’t do nothing’. Absolutelty nothing.’ And I’m not talkin’ about the good nothin’, where you’re lyin’ in the sun, on the back of a mare, or sitting on someone’s lawn while they’re cookin’ hot dogs type a nothing’. I mean the kind where you stare off into space for hours, where your eyes are open but you don’t even remember starin’ at anything.
The kind where you’re so angry that you’re doin’ nothing that the weight comes crashin’ down and you wanna spit in your own face. You know what I mean? Wanna punish yourself. The weight of that outside comes rippin through and there’s nothin’ you can do. Guess there’s a choice. Guess you could drink or watch TV or something.’ Or to fight through it.
Why am I goin’ off about this? Cause I have nothin’ to say about auras or numbers or trees. Nothin’ but a heap of trash. That’s what I feel. A heap of trash. I said I’d just as well be dead. Now, I don’t mean it. I don’t. I do and I don’t.
Why wanna be dead? I suppose to be still and not have to feel the weight of nothingness.
Like it or not, there are two forces goin on and on out there. I mean, there’s variations, thousands of ‘em, but then there’s two big forces just kickin’ each other in the pants.
And when you’re tired, you’re tired. But there’s a choice in it, too.
Like right now, I’m choosin’ to talk about numbers. Though I don’t want to. Though I’ve been starin’ at the same spot for hours.
Take a tree. Just let’s start with its body. Trunk. What have you. I tried to count the ridges, the outer growth of the bark.
Bark’s just the dead cells bein’ pushed away from its center.
Anyway, so I stood there tryin’ to count the ridges. Where they stopped, where they rubbed up against one another. I was so angry cause I couldn’t even think strait, so I tried to count. I told myself, Just concentrate on the numbers. Like I was trying to put myself to sleep, ‘cept in this case I was tryin’ to wake myself up.
And you know what happened? I started getting real quiet. All the way down to my toes. Whole body moved but didn’t think. Just got into some sort of quiet-suit. Like throughout the day, my body vibrates sporadically, without any rhythm to it, just chippin’ off here, chippin’ off there. But in this instance, a constant low hum. And then I fell down.
Now, I guess it could be my knees just buckled. But I suppose it was also the aura that got me. Real slow, I started seein’ what I used to see as a kid. A kinda haze risin’ up. And I got to thinkin’ about the bark bein’ pushed away from its center, a risin’ up. And when I thought this I started feelin’ my body go all warm. Hands tinglin’.
I was countin’ numbers and countin’ more and sayin’ ‘em out loud like a prayer. Fell down and stared at the sky and kept countin in no particular order. Numbers started doin’ somethin’ to me. Patterns rose up like aruas everywhere. I laughed and the sound came out in numbers. Four hundred eighty seven. Four hundred eighty eight. Eight. Nine hundred and twenty two. Until they weren’t numbers anymore, just vibrations.
I’m tired, I said.
And the tree said, push through it. Push through it. Say what your body would say if it were me.
If it were a tree?
Yes. If it were a tree.
Wind. Sulfur. Heartache. Migrating geese laughin’. Sixteen. Sixteen in a dress on a dancefloor in Texas. My head hurts.
That’s what I said.
I know what you’re thinkin’. What’s the point? Point is there isnt’ a point but to be whatever it is you’re called to be in that moment. And if I feel nothin’ and am thinkin’ nothin’ and am wishin’ I’m nothin’, well, then, I’m called to be nothin’ in that moment. But I gotta be gracious to that nothin’, gracious to the call to be what my body says to be. Push through it. Tell the tree it’s your extension. Believe it when your body feels like breakin’ through. When you fall down and laugh out a string of prayers. Kids have no reservations in that. Wail or laugh or write to the sunset.
I’d do that. I’d write to God and say, Today I wanted to be a migrating word. I want to be Isaiah. I want to hear what’s comin’ down the road.
Bullshit. Bullshit. I hear your thoughts. Bullshit. Alright then. But wouldn’t you like to be a migrating word? Wouldn’t you like to think you’re body ain’t gonna be dirt just to be dirt but be pushed through a tree for someone to see and count the molecules of you? And not even you anymore but more you than what’s goin’ on in your mind right now.
What I’m tryin’ to say is, today I want nothin’ and that’s a dangerous thing. Dead and blind and soon I’ll be breakin’ cement with my fists like it’s a stranger’s face that keeps hurtin’ for me. Hurtin’ for me so bad it makes me sit and stare and want nothin’. Gets inside me and tells me I’m a piece of shit. Lower than low. But outside the trees glow and say somethin’ sweet. And numbers say, count, count. Because all things are pulled toward the living. Both forces. Wanna either sing you into laughter or break you up. And when that happens, a little light pushes through.