heard you call my name

This house is up the next block from where I live on NE 16th. I snapped this yesterday just before 6p, on a walk in the heat, drowsy, silly, strolling along. I often notice this house, and yesterday my eyes went up to the third floor, the little deck on that dormer up front, and the thought slid into my head that if I was invited to come on in and up, I’d go to sleep there for a week. A whole week. Just go on up and sleep through all of it.

Wednesday morning, the day before, I was sitting in the recliner and thinking I would begin reading ‘Desolation Angels’ by Jack Kerouac – my copy on top of the bookcase just to my left. I’d finished ‘The Dharma Bums’ the day before, and ‘Angels’ slides right in next in line. However, my eyes drifted down to the second shelf, and landed here:

Maxine Hong Kingston’s ‘Tripmaster Monkey. Like ‘The Dharma Bums,’ a book I’ve read before – Kerouac and Kingston two of my three or four favorite authors. “Bums’ affected me lots more than previous readings – the word that comes to mind is “Profound.” So, no surprise ‘Monkey’ shouted out my name – “My turn, Buddy.” and there I went. Gobble up the magic mushroom.

‘Tripmaster Monkey’ is wild, amazingly hip, crazy cool, dense, demanding, “laugh out loud” jolly, important, and wicked fabulous. Exactly like its author. It picked me yesterday morning – “All for your benefit,” I think I heard in the morning air. The sudden urge to get permission to go up to the third floor of that special house and sleep for a week didn’t and doesn’t feel all that different.

My life, each next page, is showing up and presenting itself – now this, now this, whatcha think of this? – me with a (golden) ticket to ride. And each new bit is feeling pretty darn big.

I just felt like telling you this.