There he was. Alone on a mountain like a god with his head lost in the sweeping clouds. But the sun was bright and the sky clear. Who could ever know?
Moving and breathing as one; a complete and perfect person, unsmoked, fresh and quivering with nerves not nervousness. What a difference. Between death and life! It’s vigour, I tell you, He’s alivel He’s alivel
And heard him too, so could tell he was human. Maybe there goes my initiative, sapped by awe, but am proud to know and appreciate such a “My Lord Jim”. Unknowing. Never realizing. But life is all a game, so who can be sure? I mean, maybe he really does know. If you deal too many low cards, the King will obviously take them. Just never play with the Joker.
So the time came when I did get what I wanted and he moved into the audience. Of course, he was the leader of the lighting crew, and he seldom paid any attention so I didn’t show up very well. What’s more, I had a lousy part. Discontent, I told him so. Told him he was conceited and unsympathizing and haughty but loved him all the while.
A while ago, I even talked at him. He talked at me. And his eyes grew large, his hair was longer and teeth white. But nervous as hell. And a silence will kill him. He will die, I tell you. He simply dies. But music keeps him alive. And the sun. Just wandering alone on that open field of sun. And it’s cold and windy but the sun is always blazing. And all alone. Mysterious. Vast. That’s it! An openness. All one little speck under the huge, clear sky, but so perfect. Just so perfect.
Mind you, it you minds. Deliberate, you know. Black and white can sometimes be too telling. Anyway, he loves himself. Which is great. I’ve always envied people who can live with themselves, knowing that from day to day they move in a hot shower after much weight lifting content with the mind of an honest student.
It’s so important, don’t you see, to have this combination. You can’t expect to live without it because it’s so very important to existence. Ask any Spartan; he’ll tell you. It’s life, I tell you. Life! And it’s so great to be alive not dead. But you’re all as good as dead until you have it. Don’t try to get it in one easy step though. You won’t. It takes years. And furthermore, most of it is beyond your power. Only a few people, like him, have it. One in, oh, a thousand maybe. They’re just so rare. But each one is an individual. By himself. Quite different from any others. And for me, he’s the only one.
I picked him out a long time ago. It was automatic. And yet the mind of an individual is not obvious to everyone simply because everyone strikes each of us differently. I have often been accused of infatuation. So what? Do you think I really care? It’s like telling lan he has to stop smoking. I like it like this. And yet all the time I am afraid that I will let him give himself away. It would take approximately one hour of solid revelation. Candid, of course. Complete, outright frankness. Just telling ourselves everything. And then, an emptiness. The mystery would be gone, and so would the love, the adoration, the awe, the envy, the jealousy, the
hatred. And I’m headed that way.
Now, I won’t give you any of that nonsense about empty cigar boxes with blank pieces of paper but it’s all so obvious anyway. Don’t you see what I’m doing? This whole damn thing is so simple, and yet it’s all so very human (a big mouse once told me). But if I can only keep my head, he won’t disappear, and he will continue to inspire. To sap. But maybe that’s all right. It’s a feeling of oneness, of association. It’s all so vague. But just to wonder is the great part of it. Just to think what he might be like.
Without that kind of person there seems to be little hope for life. With him, I seem to be living in an eternal sunny morning. Alone on a tennis court. Cold, but bright.
However, it’s not like that at all. He’s really quite plain. It discourages me when I ask other people about him: “No, nothing particular”; “Well, I can’t really see why”; “You’re crazy”.
Not really. It happens to us all at one time or another.