Let's talk about The Force. Only, let's not call it The Force. It's too, uh, forceful. I am forcing you to do this. No, that's not it. There is a connective ethereal tissue that winds through each and every one of us. It seems to be the same in each of us. Fine. The difference is in how each of us sees it. I think we all, even the most removed of us, feel the cord, the tissue, the juice that flows throughout. It covers several channels. That's how we relate to the differences between us. We discover the channel it takes to communicate or make ourselves known to someone else. Or something else. Through this life we learn, if we are able, to recognize the channels. If we follow the channels, they begin to thin out. There are fewer and fewer channels the older we become. Soon, we are operating through very few channels. Life stabilizes? No, that's not it. either.
I'm looking forward to some time at Lake Chelan this summer. I can of if I'm around. I am probably going to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes. The particular lake is called Detroit. It's in Minnesota so try not to get confused. I don't think there is anything named Detroit around here. I don't get out much, though. Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels came through Wenatchee in about 1969 0r 70. I had a girlfriend, Leanne, and I remember it being in the Cascade Hotel Ballroom. 1000 could easily fit in there, and we did. He rocked the place. Remember how Eric Clapton looked during his heroin days? All fuzz faced and hairy? That's what Mitch Ryder looked like. To this day, i wonder if that really was Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels? Doesn't matter. I didn't even think about getting laid. It never crossed my mind.
The next band we saw at the ballroom was a band from Seattle called Chrome Syrcus. They were the loudest band I have ever heard. But then, I was about ten feet in front of the guitar player and his Fender Twin Reverb Amp. Goddam! I don't blame the totality of my hearing loss on those guys, but, sheeeeiiitt...they were wall busting loud. Clean, though. Like a knife.
I may have already been playing in a high school rock band, I can't remember. I remember the feeling of physical response to the force of the music. It came at me like a wind, the guitar player scanning the audience to see who he was mowing down with his slicing rhythm. (Oh man, those heart shaped cookies are good but rich. It's a good thing I have self restraint. I only ate three.)
After that, high school ended but my social life had expanded beyond that slim realm. I was hanging with dorm rats from the college. After high school I went to Wenatchee
Valley College for three months. I withdrew on the last day possible without academic penalty. I ended up in Seattle, living with two gay guys on Capitol Hill, working for my girlfriend's father's janitorial company. I was out of Wenatchee, at least. Fred, the guy that owned the house on Capitol Hill, was a mentor, a spiritual guide for me. We took very pure LSD one night and slipped through the "hole in the fence," Fred's secret way of entering the Seattle Historical Cemetery. Fred had been an experienced guide and had helped me breathe as I peaked on the acid. I still her him say, "Breathe, Tim, breathe." And I did. Slowly, in and then out again. Still, he gave me a valium, which I took. In a bit, I was quite calm but effervescence was the color theme now. I watched from the tomb of Chief Sealth, for whom the city was named, as the sun rose over the Olympic Mountains. A more magnificent site I had never seen and as I sat there I began to feel the connecting thread. It flowed through me through the tomb through Fred through the sun and the morning clouds. It flowed on and on and so did I.
Eventually, after the sun had awoken the rest of the city, we made our way back to the house. We sat on the couch for a while. Fred wanted to make sure I was ok. I went to bed and slept for a long, long time.
I woke up in Alaska.
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