a day in a life

quiet i walked out
into the damp air of the desert
after last nights rain
walked i quiet in a long circle
to the state hiway
where i walked by a house
and all of this before 6 am
and in the yard a man was ranting
speaking to the damp air in the desert
and i stood behind a tree and listened
there was someone in mind
in his mind
he was intent on communication
though i was the only one to hear
and while i could make no sense of his
squaking drama his seething rant
o i could hear the relevant emotions
i simply walked on walked on walked on
contrasting the quiet in my mind with
the noise in his

to morning praise
the hybrid monastic way of matins here
with the office of readings
david withstanding the wit of nathan
and a commentary by lawrence of brindisi

how i smiled smiled and cringed a bit
at the tune sung out of tune ode to joy
as i followed the chordal scheme with exactitude
on my little hoffman parlor guitar
sanctified a bit now
after many accompaniments
many tunes and counterpoint
many strums many improvisations

i cannot claim to recall just now the actual psalms
the actual reading of lauds
i do recall however the sound the sound
of the monks standing at the doxology
belting it out into the room like they meant it
and i was happy for that

sister corrine was there was there was
willing her will to be to sing to hear
and after questioned me as to the
the terrible sound of the monks singing the hymn ode to joy
so very out of tune wondering if it was her
and i was able to resolve that
no dear sister
it was the prior
had he gone a half step lower i think a certain
harmony might have been attained
his ear does not hear as the music is sounded

breakfast was an array of fine yellow mushroom and cheese
omelettes and new potatoes al dente
and sausage patties and crisp french bread
toasted on the grill

this is the day dear friend the day
the sunday the sixteenth sunday in ordinary time
barely begun

my sunday focus then is the Mass
how to sing the thing how to get the folks
in the pews to think in terms of singing the ritual
so i arranged the chants
the entrance antiphon the responsorial
the communion antiphon
and a hymn which i misjudged a bit
for i thought it must be familiar
but they did not sing with much zeal
o no they did not
until the third and fourth verse when the simple melody
was somehow getting more familiar
that hymn i accompanied on my KORA
for it was in F

mary pat mary pat mary pat
the lady who plays piano
the lady who feels a bit put aside
by the upstart foreigner who came from where
the hell did he come from anyway
with his guitar and his kora and his strange
piano improv things
she wants to work with me
she said i do fine
she seems like she will agree
to work with the things i want to do for liturgy

were we sitting on the porch in front of the gift shop
idling away the time chatting with everyone
kids with toys a beautiful couple in a jaguar
and young man on a motorcycle
drove up and parked
shook the hand of the prior and myself
who will stay for a few days
before i knew i needed a nap before i knew
that early vespers was going to be way too early for me
so i slept listening to ALMOSTLY HARMLESS again
slept sound and dreamed what did i dream
and walked on the soil where leaves have fallen
on the path where the blessed mother holds out her hands
and the ducks hide from the sun
and to vespers i went

uneventful except again for the standing and
singing out of the monks
as i strummed the autoharp
guiding as i can the shape of the sound
to the best that i can that anyone could i think
and it is satisfactory

more has happened but this is the major drift of the day

dinner consisted of corned beef potatoes carrots onions
and boiled cabbage
a very irish meal as i learned during the meal
that padraig harrington won the british open

henri the prior and christopher o'connell nee' hammond
and i went for a drive in my taurus up the dirt road
to the dragoons where jerry dixon has his hacienda
a beautiful hacienda and his grandson derek
gave the three of us the tour
and showed us the old stage coach and pony express stop
made of adobe now in a state of crumbling
not quite a tenth of what it once
possible was if the imagination were to speak
and it began to rain
so we took derek home
derek who complains that life is a bit boring
way out there in the wilds of the dragoon foothills
but he has computer games and does not like to read
below the green and grey and tan rocks
immense rocks that slowly over time tumble down
and crumble into smaller stones and ages hence
end up in the soil in the river beyond the
thinking of 12 year old derek

we saw some very old stock pinto horses
and some old mexican black mares too
one with a colt was missing one eye
it was patched over with horse skin
she came and looked at us with the good eye

hyroglyphs were painted on the rocks
high above the hacienda the beautiful hacienda
tom schmidt has done much to build
and we climbed rocks the grey green and tan
rocks up to the site where the faded glyphs
now speak to no one no-one knows hears no one knows
we quess at the meaning of six legged lizards
and the classic jagged line and the sunlike ball
and somehow we know there is message we could use
if we only but knew this language
and COCHISE knew perhaps who holed up in these rocks
for two years holding the white man army at bay
until he worried too greatly for his people
and gave into the civilization strategy of these highly
advanced europeans taming the wild country for themselves
so that we can be the beacon of democracy to the
rest of the world
let us not stop here to consider the atrocities

we returned
i watched the end of 60 minutes
something ridiculous about kenny chesney
the idiotic excuse for the worst thing that
ever happened in country music
all hat and no substance

sat with a few of the folks here
and listened to the "bishop" hold forth
with his continual praise
and little do we consider that this guy
is actually acting out his shame his need
to be a bishop and he claims that yes
this is his community
and he has no reason to be here
other than it is his refuge

we read the rule and commentary by joan chittester
that ridiculous benedictine bitch whom everyone now
considers a bit of an authority but i think is
an idiot in a nuns' shoes
but we read her and her commentary
and the bishop got everyone to nod in agreement
and took the conversation to his own impulse
and i have gotten to the point where i think
the guy is as crazy as joan
they deserve one another

then o then you who will never read these words
i came here to sit at the monitor
went to my emails
went to sally's blog
went to silliman's blog

and all the while i've been listening to KUAZ
where my old pal pat wilch
puts the grooves down
in his inimitable way

and i hear his voice now and i will now sign off
for that is my day
more there is more little things i could point to
but you get the idea

i'll go now go now go now
to sleep again and dream
as it gets to 11 pm
i will go