Tour 5

This was another glimpse of the sublime, an experience completely at odds with what one would expect from a tour of America's seediest venues. Since we had the day off, staying outside Washington DC, our friend took us to a swimming hole nearby. We had to walk over a mile through mud and scrub brush to get there, but what a beautiful place... swimming in clean river water, no cell phone service, no traffic noise, perfect weather.

Today the all-encompassing surreality didn't matter. It was like that dream that you don't want to wake up from when your alarm goes off in the bone-chilling cold of January and you want to skip work. It was a small taste of paradise --- not in the hyper-real TV culture sense, where it's all about tropical beaches, booze, and self-pampering --- this was a small taste of perfect unity, perfect comfort which is not insular, a particle of time where everything is balanced and right and at peace. It inspired a playful and childlike wonder.

This made me realize that I truly am living a fantasy right now, doing something that literally almost no one gets to do. While part of me is still feeling the ache of homesickness, another part of me is filled with gratitude and reveling in the joyful absurdity of this entire summer. How can I possibly complain? I have enough to eat, a roof over my head more often than not, travel companions who have plenty of color if not much grace, and I am presented daily with the splendor and majesty of creation. Wherever I go, I am watched over and attended to, not just a meager portion given, but piled on and overflowing --- a real mess of delight.

This is not to "shortcircuit the vicissitudes" of essentially being homeless for two months, there are plenty of trials. But however acute that pain may be --- physical, emotional, or otherwise --- right now the most real and tangible quantity is wonder.

Little things: the DC show went really well, which was a needed confidence booster. We played TMA-1 and it sounded the best it has yet. All the bands were good, which almost never happens. I am also rediscovering Brian Eno's Ambient 1: Music for Airports, which I'm listening to as I type this. It's genius (I had forgotten). Tomorrow we're driving to Murfreesboro, NC, which will take us right through Zuni, VA, the town I lived in until I was 8. Only about 50 people live there, most of whom are different from the people I remember. I'll still stop and take pictures, but I suspect that the surreality factor will only increase. Memory is volatile in these kinds of situations, and prone to excess.

waterfalls / cirrocumulus clouds / sunlight / air-drying / Music for Airports / quietness / waking dreams