No, haven’t dropped off the face of the earth
Daisies. That’s my excuse. There are daisies popping up in the park, and hippie drum circles, and it’s smashingly beautiful outside, and what the gosh darned heck am I doing a couple of days shy of Imbolc, the midpoint between solstice and equinox when you can feel the energy in the ground shifting toward spring if you’re paying any kind of attention, sitting inside a cafe, in this case Old Soul Weatherstone, typing this out?
Because I care about you, gentle readers, the dozen or so of you who pop in here to see whatever I’m on about today.
So here’s the deal: Yesterday I had a nice little surprise, when a friend called to offer adventures away from this keyboard and screen, and who among us can resist the attraction of something different, a momentary vacation from the mundane? Well, I can’t. And today, it’s beautiful outside, and so am I — beautiful, outside, maybe even both.
Riding over here, I saw a real-estate sign overlaid with the shaky spray-paint prophecies of the ghetto profound: “Where is your heart at?” it asked. A block away, high up under a freeway overpass: “Where is your heart at? Think hard.” There seemed a drug-saturated jitter to the tagged scrawl, but the point is, if you want to connect with your heart, drop the thinking. Think too hard and you’re gonna miss out. Don’t think, grasshopper. Feel.
And what I’m feeling right now is nascent springtime, even if Punxsutawney Phil sez otherwise in a few days. So I’m gonna get into that nascent springtime groove, me being born on the vernal equinox along with my mates Johann Sebastian Bach and Russ Meyer, and dig the rhythm of the ground getting warmer and the flora commencing to bud.
More writing soon, I promise. Potentialities are blooming, baby. —Jackson Griffith