Remote Part

A young man of a tender age awoke to the sounds of a strumming guitar. He followed that acoustic vibration to a man in a leather coat and sun shades, sitting on a hood of a Ford pickup. The man strummed over and over again, chewing a single stick of gum and smoking a bent cigarette while changing the occasional chord. He never felt it was weird to smoke and chew at the same time because it was nothing more than cool. The young man stared endlessly at the light brown instrument, eyes fixed on the strings as they constantly quaked back and forth with every flick of a dark-grey pick. Words of Revolution, Love Me Do, and Imagine float out like a dream in the middle of a deep nights sleep. So wake up, play those chords and sing those words. It is the inspiration of influence. It is the Let It Be when I’m Only Sleeping. The boy, still stripped in pj’s, stands quietly at a stillness and blinks with every second almost camera like. Music, if nothing else, sets the tone of our days and weeks. It brings us back to where we’ve been and where we’ve come from. Music is an anthem of self and a keeper of truth. Music is, if nothing else, inspiring. So put on your favorite song and just listen…
The time of life continues to pass. They move each day in the era of reality and non-fiction. It might not have seemed nice, it might not have seemed bad, it was just there and so were we. In the middle of a song without eyes closed to the remote parts of the heart, and that one note that makes it the best part of all. Music has power; so shine into that bright light and look no more. We have seen the best and the worst. It was fun and it was gloomy. Play it again Sam, one more time in the portals of the mind and search for that remote part. Let it breathe deep and circle through the blood tunnels. It moves faster than you but not as fast as the world. Don’t rush the words. Let them flow with a certain poetry. Imagine what is to be seen and not able to be. Move those fingers and play those notes. Imagine the words but don’t speak them. Don’t beat the drum; yet, move to the rhythm of acoustics. Glide the sounds with the remote parts, but don’t watch, only feel. Feel the ground and the air. Feel the answer before the question. Feel what is old about the new and what is new about the old. You’ve contracted what is to be contracted, yet do not tell. Sing the song but don’t listen to it. Watch the dark nothing but don’t comprehend it. It is the daylight and it is the nightlight. Then you are the remote part. Call it confusion the best way possible. Yet, instead, call it life whenever the sun does not flare into that bright moonlight. It is the cooling of the mind and the healing of the fiery soul. Then, and only then, you’ll find what you find when you find there’s nothing.