Tuesday Wine Tales: A Continuum of Sorts

Napa,Fall Harvest 2017

Contrary to belief, this post was fueled by espresso, pumpkin scone and a dosage of reality. A long time ago, I wrote these words scribbled down below. I hope to continue what I was feeling at this time, nevertheless, I'm up in the middle of a pandemic and I had quite an exceptional feeling that this moment was overdue. The writer's block, not the pandemic. (Any words in parenthesis should indicate to the reader, that I am indeed writing in present April 2020 time)

Something is coming... And I can safely say I'm ready. To the exceptional readers who take a delight in reading this blog in their spare time (or possibly during the humdrum hours of work), thank you for reading.I can assuage your mind with these comforting words within these confining spaces. I will continue to write, albeit not as much. Writing shouldn't lack in quality and should be a medium in which like any process, takes time and considerable efforts to producing a body of work worthy of provocation and otherworldly delights. (Which is why I haven't written anything worthy of your attention nor mine, my mind has been locked up in a glass jar unable to slip outside the clear view.)

So there it is -- A continuum of sorts. Where the adjacent parts of our lives seamlessly weave into our collective stories and have no difference between each other. Yet, we capture within our mind's eye the noticeable extremes present in our everyday existence. From shifting migrational patterns to the shifts of our relationships. Where does it all lead up to?

The current moment: The (part where I say some catchy line to keep you reading these words - for what purpose, I don't know? To cure your modern-day boredom, I suppose) (Insert here: April 2020 - Monterey, CA, and the remainder of the writing below has been written near Cannery Row, there is no correlation to John Steinbeck's novel Cannery Row, I just thought I'd say that bit for the usual contextual agreement between us as you read on)

What's more is this notion that I have something figured out that I am supposed to deliver as if I'm a postmates delivery boy with a bump in my paycheck now that I am banking off of a virus. An evil, bloodsucking attention seeking, self-interested virus that attaches itself like a parasite. No, not like the film. Yes, I get that you enjoy Korean films now. Good for you.

The truth is, I've been writing to save my own peace of mind. But I'm not exactly sure what that evens means anymore. If having a peace of mind equates to comfort, then I know what comfortable means. That means a state of routine that is predictable and simple. Simplicity offers an escape from chaos. An escape from nothingness and from no matter. We are matter, we are stuff, energy that moves. That's beautiful enough on its own terms. Yet, we can't catch hold of our own lightning. That is why we move and continue to move. What moves you? What is your cornerstone? How will you know where I decide to end this story? The story arc beckons for a climax and finish, only to begin again. That reminds me of when a movie ended on Netflix and I saw a countdown for a new show to start. I was confused and my girlfriend noticed. She smiled and mentioned that this is how she gets started on new shows. Turns out she watches quite a bit of television. Yeah, I don't really watch television just to watch. I know it's a distraction.

Distractions are necessary to keep our rhythm in sync with the way our global merry-go-round stays in orbit. I'm just tired of them.

Sometimes I wonder, if I were to become something important. A policymaker. A part of a change bigger than anything I've ever known. What might that look like? Would I have to give up who I am today to become this zeitgeist figurehead? Would I have to delete this blog post in a sacrificial act of self-denial? So many unanswered questions for the man who drinks wine but doesn't know how to make it.

The difficulty of cultivating something from nothing. The years to make the piano shine. We have so many instruments for the reaping of our own harvest. Then the shine runs out. Or it slows down. Sometimes gradually, sometimes with grace. The fierce grace that emboldens our waking life turns into treasures of thought. Our mind lights up with glee and feels all of that moment. No longer lost in the woods and meandering. It's like when you finally meet someone you connect with and you can just be who you are. You don't have to pretend anymore. If she asks, how are you doing? You can really just sit back and cry a little, drink the bitter sediment in the glass and signal for another bottle. It's going to be a long night. A night worth remembering who you are drinking with as you drink three year old sunlight.