ribs, water and the north

sometimes you just know. i don't know how you know, but you know.
and now you must wait.

this morning is kafka on the shore and black rebel motorcycle club. howl. the sun in your eyes. finally, again. there is something right about it.

you can tell at the beginning of a year sometimes how much time will pass before the next january.

i have heard of visions. we rely so heavily on our eyes. this seeing is without pictures. seeing with your toes or knees or ribs.

a buddhist and m. murakami spoke of worlds opening. of parallels. of being lifted to a new plane. of stepping between worlds. today the entrance is a stone. in celtic mythology it was any body of water. or a particular day of the year when the gates opened. we say the words still, but we don't understand.

but it's true. the entrance moves and changes shape.

sometimes i think we might have magnets inside. and i can feel my magnet tugged to iceland. to glaciers, fairies and the northern lights.

or sometimes it's just a knowing. you can listen for it and be ready, but, like nakata, you must wait until it comes.

but you can fill the waiting. and i will look for banjo lessons. i have been playing the lakes of canada at night. five magic metal strings on that round base in my awkward fingers, but the voice that comes out of it is beautiful. still i hope i'm not a master banjo player before my magnet feels another pull.