I know what made me write well in the past. I didn’t always know, but now I know. As I sit here next to a lofty jalousie window that opens onto an eternal light in the alleyway, listening to my lover read off entrees from restaurants on Espanola Way, I know that My Morning Jacket was the reason.
Thanks Peter. Hope you’re digging wherever you are, Greece, Spain, Houston, New Orleans, or, someday, if you stay true to the epiphany you had in South Beach, while staring wildly into the Atlantic horizon, the sea up to your sternum, Miami.
High up in a condominium on Brickell that opens onto the Port of Miami, you felt the peace that comes with trade, commerce. Nations that trade are nations at peace, you said to me, and then after that, in the sea, you said that you have seen the good life, and you’re willing to work for it.
In response to your epiphany, I had one of my own. I incanted, as if reading directly from a pillar of newly discovered truth, this poem:
A woman is beautiful
but you have to swing
like a handkerchief
in the wind.
Meanwhile, the barges and reefers unloaded their cargo from one nation and loaded cargo from ours. Peace and love filled the air.
This, I remember thinking, is unlimited loving kindness.
**Addendum: Interesting to note that after I finished this post, I did a Google Book Search for [jack kerouac pomes] and found the above-referenced poem.
This is how Mr Beat wrote Woman in Pomes all sizes, page 150:
I don’t know about you, but I personally like my version better… well, Kerouac’s does make your eyes dance/swing more. :-)
UPDATE: “International trade reached its apogee as a percentage of world GDP just prior to WWI.” –CAT