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unsung - initial reaction

yesterday i woke up from my daysleeping to find a
manilla envelope holding up the lid of my mailbox,
with the words "over the rhine" stamped in the corner.
 a smile found its way to my lips, followed quickly by
the thought, "it's much smaller than i anticipated." 
i separated it quickly from the other flotsam and
jetsam clogging my mailbox and carefully unwrapped the
package.  mine, too, came wrapped in an ASR/IDTTNNTBN
one sheet.  fun.  inside was the book i'd been waiting
over a year for.  i gingerly removed it from its mylar
holder, pausing to wonder at what awaited me inside. 
now for me, reading a new book isn't just a way to
pass time - it's an event.  and so i waited before i
dove in, waited until the daylight had dimmed a bit,
until i was more awake, until i had the right music,
until the mood was just right.  weird, i know. 
eventually, though, i settled down, turned on
linford's solo work (of course) and began to soak in
the words.  the book is short - fourteen pages of text
- so i took my time and savored all the words, which
was good since the richness of the language deserves
to be savored, not wolfed down and forgotten.  took me
a while to get through it - i think the cd ran out
before i was done - and when i was done i felt . . .

now i'm a solitary kind of guy.  i'm an introvert by
nature - and by choice. i live alone in a
free-standing efficiency (the bungalow), i work the
graveyard shift at a hotel, where interactions are
minimal, i sleep when most people are out and about. 
and for the most part, i like my life that way.  but
occasionally, some moment will come, stealing my
breath, showing me beauty or wonder or power i had
never seen.  and i'll want to share that moment - only
to find myself reaching out to grab a hand that isn't
there.

that's what unsung did to me yesterday.

i tried to pick it up again today, to read, but only
got a couple of pages in and had to stop, because i
couldn't shake the sadness, the sense that i wanted
someone to share this book with, someone to read it
to, someone to read it to me, and realizing i don't
have that someone in my life.

maybe this is too much to share on a public list, but
i had to share with someone, you know?  and where
better than on a list like this?

i'm reminded of a passage from my favorite author that
fits well with what i'm feeling and with some of the
ideas linford presents at the beginning of the book:

"I guess the thing about today is that I spent it
alone - not with *you*.  Are you the person I'm
thinking of right now?  Maybe you are.  Where are you?
 Where did you go?  The day is fading and I'm
wondering about my next life, tomorrow.  I wish it was
with you."

someday i'll be able to read the book again, to ponder
the issues and images linford so beautifully presents
to us.  but right now, i'm just missing "you."

Æ

=====
****************************************************
The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what 
you share with someone else when you're uncool.
****************************************************

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