Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Golden years, gold, wop wop wop
It probably would be a safe wager that David Bowie had other thoughts than those present in this post today when he wrote the song, "Golden Years." But, who can say for certain and, besides, the concept of "golden years" means different things to different people, just as the definition of "success" has varied interpretations. This is a nonsensical post. (Perhaps, they all are.) It came to me the other night that I wondered what it would be like to sleep in a bed again. (That was, anyway, a portion of what I was thinking.) Then, my mind began to drift, and the words below emerged. When you have read them (I guess that is assuming a great deal), you might have a better idea of why I live alone. It is not just the concept of home decorations. To the contrary, my own belief is that a house, with the exception of one, lone room, is the domain of the woman (if/when there is one) who lives there. The lone room, of course, is for the man who lives there to hide within. The greater concept is finding a woman who either is willing to travel with me (and to sleep wherever we are when darkness falls .... I am laughing, are you ??) or who enjoys being alone much of the time when I am in a wandering mood. And, yes, I know the bottle in the photograph is Benedictine and not brandy. The brandy is in the kitchen where I pour my drinks and ice is at my finger tips.
Of what use are beds ??
Someone once looked me in the eye, smiled a soft smile and said: "You live in a house of books, brandy and bullets, but no beds."
I had to agree, and to compliment my smug attitude of the moment with words, I replied: "I am a practical man. I only buy what I use."
I have not slept in a bed since the winter of 2010. Reflecting on the subject of beds (to what ends, I do not know), I have spent much of my life sleeping on floors or couches or reclining chairs. In a more esoteric and descriptive sense, I have slept on sandy beaches, rocky deserts, on ships and in canoes, on aircraft, in trees, on snow on ground and on ice on frozen lakes, on piles of leaves in forests, in wheat fields and jungle grass, in cars and trucks, in battlefield gullies where men have died in recent wars or, sometimes, in old or even ancient wars.
I spent a night on a rocky, mountain foot trail with portions of my body going downhill in three different directions. The trail was going up-mountain, with half my body on one side of the trail at a sixty-degree, downhill angle and the other half of my body on the opposite side of the slope at a sixty-degree, downhill angle .... my rifle tied to me by the shoe lace of one boot and my remaining gear tied to the shoe lace of the other boot to ensure it would stay with me should I tumble off in my sleep. I slept well; I loved it.
There was another occasion when I fell asleep in utter darkness on a moonless, starless night with my upper body on a muddy riverbank and my legs still in the river. It seemed like a good idea at the time. No need to shower in the morning; just push backward and resume swimming/drifting with the current.
I have always been able to fall asleep anywhere within two or three minutes and to set my "internal alarm" to awaken me whenever I wish, unless I am in a state of virtual exhaustion; it comes in handy.
Well, there are a few more places where I think it might be interesting to sleep before I enter into "the endless slumber," but, I wonder: Of what use are beds?