Grateful (not)Dead

I almost died last night. Texting on my phone, all caught up in my own little world. Looked at the text, looked up, the light just went green, I step, a red double decker¬† comes from the left, swirling right around me, taking the sharpest little turn possible under the laws of physics, passing me, stopping. All the tourists on the top deck turn their melted faces back at me,cheering in shock, amused, smiling, screaming, looking angry, looking mad and happy at the same time. I am still under the influence of what had just happened, continue crossing the street. Allen street, China town,New York City. I was looking for 115 Hester street to go see the contact sheets of the art photography I had just been a part of in the deserts of Utah, nude, honest, strong and beautiful, connecting with the nature, hugging the ancient formations, crying out my fears, sharing my contentment, exchanging energies. I proceed onto Grand Street, making a left, making a right, recognizing the destination but passing the building number for no particular reason. Head is still in the cloud of dazed confusion and general unawareness. A weird looking, elder and slender guy resembling Keith Richards is smoking a cigarette outside of 117 Hester. He gives me a look, perhaps trying to help finding the address. “I like your hat,” he says. “Can I take a picture?”….He lifts up a serious looking camera off his chest, hands me the shiny round sun reflector. Look up, look down, turn your face to me, chin up, to the left, to the right, no, right there, close your eyes until I tell you, test, open your eyes, gorgeous! A godly looking model guy comes out of the door, I’m convinced I’m at the right address. The photographer says that if I google greatest American photographers, his name will come up. He repeats his name out loud twice, but only the first part, Max stays in my head. Last name sounded German or Jewish. Figuring I can now find him and get the damn picture that they liked so much, I try to keep on looking for the building number. “Who are you with?”, he says, “for modeling?”. “Oh, I make music”, “Here’s my card”. That must’ve been the last free vista buseness card out of the 250 stack I ordered a year ago.¬† I proceed with my destination search when Xavior’s Barcelonian greeting cry reaches my ear. Here he is. I can’t wait to tell him about the life changing past ten minutes of my life. The pictures were so beautiful, my eyes watered.
Nothing matters more than being alive. Just an extra second of breathing this air. Calm down, everything is alright no matter if you stressed or not. Things are still gonna go the same way, independently of what you might be experiencing emotionally. I wrote a fucking song about it, and still don’t get it? “Be Here Now” it’s called .Pleasure and pain and loss and gain, shame and fame are all the same, just be here now. Stressed out and desperate ten minutes ago, now forever grateful, grabbing onto the last thing left, love. All the struggle in the world for this one moment, in stinky China town, inhaling the fumes of sewage, human urine and automobile smog. Still beautiful, still organic, still life. We have taken ourselves here, better enjoy now. No body else’s fault but our own, Zeppelin wailed. You might be between point A and B in life, but you are healthy and you are breathing. Stop, think, breath, and carry on. 2012, time for a change, can’t expect things to go the same way the did. In this accelerated time, tune your frequencies to the sound of the present by being honest with thyself.