Thursday, March 01, 2018

Dinner with the Potter

No others were available for our gaming group night but we two gathered anyway. I suppose I looked forward to it even more so than the previous occasion when we five played Tokaido. For I would have the potter to myself and surely gain some insight into the living experience of this significant poet; this capable witness to the universe.

The home-made bread was joyfully sustaining; the pulled pork superbly spiced. The competent Californian red was overly chilled and delayed while we divvied a magnum of white.

Dear Doctor Lock; his brother and my excellent old pal, had generously prepared us, each with praise for the other, and so we fell quickly into comfortable openness.

I garnered a valuable pointer or three with regards to the craft of writing both poetic and prosaic. There were books, films and at least one album demanding purposeful reflection. We bared ourselves much; confessed unashamedly. We had to speak of parents passed on, of course, and I shed brief tears for the departed father person of mine, for the first time since the event, when I abandoned him to pass away in no presence of love from me; one of my great sins for which I still owe the universe (what price I don’t yet know).

He praised me too much and he trusted me very much - as one is always safe to do. As such, I offer no particulars here, for this blog evolved before I did, beginning not quite as anonymously as I should have preferred.

But he allowed me to an inner place where the building blocks of his life took shape but with holes of course; one in particular which he can not abide. I understand his wish; his plight. There are commonalities in the way we fiercely love. He is looking far away at the possibility of harmony. I looked that way too once, for reasons less informed or pertinent, but it is one of many parallels.

We hugged warmly and parted with the promise to reconnect and where I vowed to properly share my own great struggle. I know that his counsel will be wise and so I am already comforted!

We had crossed paths before of course; twice at his own lofty abode. And so the next day his message, as with any proper poet, was precise: It was great to meet you, man.

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