no weight at all

Off to the Southeast yesterday on errands, in between I walked along Johnson Creek on the Springwater Corridor. I did what I’ve been doing about once a week and hiked down over and beyond the railroad bridge and to a sitting bench just off the tar trail. There I took out my phone, dialed up You tube, and played The Shangri-las “Out in the Streets.” Kind of wicked great. Then it was Kate Bush’s “The Big Sky.” The hits kept coming.

After a while I got up to head back and was listening to The Band’s “It Makes No Difference,” a remarkable song for me. I got to thinking that everyone in that band – and I grew up with them – was gone, had passed away. All five. And here I am, dawdling along on a Wednesday in early May, Portland, OR, two addresses in the last two months, fully alive and not only out in the world but absolutely positively wildly of the world.

So these thoughts are passing through and a jogger’s coming from the other direction, slowly approaching, he’s tall and lean, and when he’s about 15 feet away I give a close look and I swear I knew right there and then it was Levon Helm, The Band’s drummer, on record as having passed away in 2012. His face wasn’t exactly like Levon’s, and he was taller than Levon. But it was him. And as he was passing, without turning his head, his eyes came over and found mine and said to me – “We haven’t gone anywhere.”

Pinky swear.

This is not a post about reincarnation or angels or ‘The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down’ or ‘Remember Walking in the Sand’ or running up any hill or anything that could be explained, even hinted at. It was just me being struck amazed.