I’ve gone and done it. Started another blog. I’ve left several carcasses across the Internet Highway. Hopefully, this won’t be another. I can’t help it. I have to write. Unless, I have to write something. Then I can’t. I don’t want to is more like it. I don’t want to do anything I have to do. That’s just the way I am. That’s the way we all are. We all want a job, but we hate it when we have to go to work. We want to paint, write, sing, dance, play in the rain – but, just let someone tell us we have to go out in the rain and see what happens. I love rain, until I have to go out in it. And so, this is life. My life.
This blog is about me. It’s the only thing I know a little something about. Not much, but I’m learning. To make it a little more interesting, this blog is about me in Phoenix and my growing awareness of the immediacy of things and the glory of life in my own backyard. Sounds profound, or stupid. Take your pick. Doesn’t much matter. I’ve been studying Buddhism and have discovered things are usually profoundly stupid. Silly. Not all that important. Not quite as important as we like to make them, anyway, because a second from now something else will be profoundly important and the things of the last second forgotten. We are all pinballs in an enormously tiny arcade. Each bumper, a representation of an obsession that we will bounce off many times, or one time, until we fall in the hole. That’s it.
Today’s obsession is Phoenix, Arizona. The place of my birth. The place with my dirt and my grandparents buried in it. A hot, sprawling metropolis with my memories lying all over the place. Stories. Joys. Pains. Sorrows. Ecstasies. Things I rarely see because I’ve looked at them so much without really looking. Things just pass before my eyes and slide through my days as unnoticed as the faded scars on my kneecaps. I’ve decided to try and pay attention. I’m going to be a tourist in my own town and my own head. We’ll see how this turns out.