Roots, Rock, Reggae
I must take a moment to go on record. I am having the dreamiest of dreamtime, though I am wide awake. I am basking in the greatness of not only the first person I ever met when I stepped foot on to Fels House soil as a reasonably fragile, and certainly frightened, Bennington College freshman in the fall of 1990, but someone who would end up being an immeasurable force in my life from that very moment on.
Starry alignment, electric currents, cosmic strategies, a greater plan, and so forth. Our particular connection has survived estrangement, nervous breakdowns, the pressures and complications of our other relationships, geographical limitations, and having all but one toe in the grave. It is nothing short of a miracle that Z is still of this earth. And of course, my friendship with Z also survived a school that I'm pretty sure, for four+ years, tried to fuck us all gently with a chainsaw.
He is in town from way up north; about four hours north from Vancouver where he is building a loveshack with his longtime ladyfriend. He has brought with him The Duck, another special friend from college—or, as Z refers to it, The Quote Unquote College or The All Girls Drama School. Since I've been in their company, since Tuesday morning, I've felt almost weightless. I've felt safe. I tend to be nostalgic for things as they unfold, which means my heart hurts right now in the most wonderful way. I do not wish to let them out of my sight ever, ever, never.
Today Z looked at us and said, "This is a power source." These are my people. These people are kings. They remind me of who I can be. I know the cheese and corn factor here is high, but my heart is full.
