Saturday, July 2, 2011

response to Why Love Will Always Be a Poor Investment

I am on a long journey, not so long as others I have taken, but long enough. I hate sitting still for hours on end, it is a pain in the rear, i grow bored so I pick up a book. I am reading this book and the narrator jumps out at me. I would almost think I knew him.
How could that be?
Authors are different, they get their stories in print, they don't just tell them to listening ears. I know a few, but this one author is different. I could swear he and I have known each other, it is like I am hearing him tell the story. It cannot be, but it is, the story has started to include places, and people i knew. This is strange, very strange. I keep on reading.
The vehicle pulls to a stop, I put the book down and don't look at it again for the rest of the day, i get out and stretch my legs, and it slips my mind. The next day i pick it up again and finish the book, it was not a heavy read, so I look at the authors name. Wouldn’t you know it, I went to school with him, I remember calculating the volume a cup would hold, at a restaurant, coming home from a tournament.
Yes I knew this man, when we were younger, I got drunk with his younger brother, once or twice, i crashed a snow mobile on his parents property when we were driving one night, (sober), busted several ribs too. I knew this man, he and his cousins were crazy, setting each other on fire, shooting each other in pellet gun wars, trying to defy death at every turn. I wonder what happened, he sounds so depressingly average.
I lived a life of High adventure, travelling with the wind, pack on my back. I visited many places, met new people, fought in too many battles. I panned for gold in rivers, tracked game in the high mountain ranges, scouted paths in the sierra madres, did all sorts of things you only read about. I think the last time i saw him was at his wedding many years ago, and I wonder what life has thrown his way.
How many of my adventures would he believe, how many would he not? not that such things matter to me anymore, I know what I have done, and what I have seen, it does not bother me if you disbelieve. How many men can say they have climbed to the top of the world, and listened to the music of the dawn, how many can say they have seen mist rising off a river early in the morning as the canoe traverse its course?
How many men can say they fell in love as fast as I did?
Or Got engaged just as Rapidly?
Not many I think. Nor would they want to, Adventure is just something bad happening to someone else, far away. it is not like the bards sing, it is not like the stories tell, for who would believe the stinging cold rains, or the steaming hot ovens of a tent that one must sleep in, if one sleeps in tents in the first place. No my friend, who wrote his book settled down, and faced an adventure I long have wanted to have of my own.
My friend raised a family, and met the challenges of being responsible, so maybe he did not do half the things I did, but he faced the grandest adventure. I have scars, inside and out, from a thousand battles, in a life I chose, but until I met my true love a few months ago I was the loneliest man alive. I was envious of the birds singing from their nests, because they had a mate, and I did not, they had a home, and I did not.
I envy the adventure my friend has had, the times he has experienced, the hard times, the good times too. I wonder what he would think of that?
I bet my friend would not have made the same mistakes I did, nor make the same ones repeatedly, for he always was very intelligent. He would have figured out what I was doing wrong and rectified it, or maybe he would have been enjoying himself too much to care, I don’t know.He writes his books, his article from the experiences of his life, as i write my words from the experiences of mine. So I faced high adventure, and i did battle more times than I can count, and he did not, I can still wish the majority of my poems were not so depressing, the greater part of my work dealing with wars. I can still wish my life had taken a course like his, but if it had i never would have met my love, nor would i have had so much in common with her. I suppose things worked out the way they were supposed to. Now I have invested in a great love, it makes me think of a poem i wrote once: In my minds eye, deep inside my head
my love I spy, and hear what she said
enamored I, for her my heart beats
within my chest, and burning it heats
demands my best, spurs on to great fetes
it’s life’s pop test - how to living love
You know, my friend wrote a book about why love is a poor investment, but i think it is the only investment worth making, the return is so astoundingly great as to make it not even be funny. I cannot think of anything but loving my one love, I cannot think of betrayal, it doesn’t exist as a possibility for me.
I wonder what you would think of this Kurt, that I once envied you...