Desperado

137.

The rock that safely conceals the spare cabin key offers its contents devoid of emotion. There is warmth and connectivity in very few things in my life, but this is one, however trivial and however small.  I have been using this rock - I know its shape, its texture, its weight, and how it changes hues slightly when held to moonlight - as a lucky charm of sorts. I stumbled across it on an epic training hike in Arizona some thirty years ago and decided it might be a talisman destined for magic. It has been an icon of grounding for me ever since. Like an anchor, it keeps me present, reminded of the fleeting nature of our species, that change is unending and that my path is the one of practice. The rock triggers this contemplation every time I return. 

I have tonight and tomorrow to shed a thousand emotional pounds. I start a fire with the bone-dry cedar kindling and in five minutes the dark, the chill and the emptiness are gone, escaping like sparks, torched embers of yesterday’s incompletion. I engage the battery storage system, captured and stored energy from the sun, to heat water for a shower and then twist on the propane to fire the stove. In my haste to escape the city and the distraction over the call from Julie and its downstream ramifications, I drove past the grocery store without the usual stop. It’ll have to be beans (black), rice (basmati) and albacore (canned). I slide open the pantry’s carved wood cabinet and select a bottle of South African Shiraz. I hear the fire crackle as I head to the shower, grabbing a huge terrycloth towel along the way. I am feeling better already. Practice is this. Chopping wood and carrying water. Let it all wash away. Relax, rest and recover. Be good to yourself. Smell the roses. 

At the last minute I add a can of spinach to the mix of earthly delights and rejoice in the discovery of a tin of jalapeños (fire roasted). The pairing of the wood smoke and spicy aroma flares my nostrils with appreciation. Truly it is the little things in life that provide the biggest rewards.  I pour a large glass of the deep-red wine, set the portable table in front of the fire and turn on the stereo, chuckling to myself at the decision to forgo the ceremonious lighting of candles since I am dining alone. 

I choose an album, it’ll be vinyl tonight, one that I have been thinking about recently. The quasi-concept album, not quite of rock opera standards, such as Tommy or Terrapin Station, but ground-breaking for its musical metaphor back in ’73. The Eagles Desperado, a harbinger of the country-rock to follow, softly opens with acoustic sensitivity playing against the decidedly violent aural image of the old west. Bang, bang, shoot, shoot. Six stringed guitars are itching to replace Colt six shooters in the transformation of brutality to harmony. One can almost hear the white-hatted protagonist plead for song and a dance at midnight instead of duels in the dusty streets at high noon. The metamorphosis asks for peace, forgiveness and growth. 

“Don’t you draw the Queen of Diamonds boy, she’ll beat you if she’s able,

You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet.

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table,

But you only want the ones that you can’t get.” 

I am engrossed in the magic of here and now, muscles minus fast twitching, breaths deep, restorative and pure. Music, sweet music. 

But my mellow indulgence is abruptly ended as I remember the packet. I run out the parked rental car and fetch it from the front seat. 

I sit and hold it unopened in my hands considering its contents. Fool’s gold? 

“Don’t your feet get cold in the wintertime?

The sky won’t snow and the sun won’t shine

It’s hard to tell the night time from the day.

And you’re losing all your highs and lows,

ain’t it funny how the feeling goes

away…..”

Desperado.