“Yesterday”

“Early in the evening, after a day spent in silence, meditating, reading, and writing, I venture out to complete a walking circuit of my small town’s main street. Being a creature of habit, I follow exactly the same course every day. This routine has for me a sacred quality; it is my time out in the world seeing other people. It is a ritual, a sort of pilgrimage that carries me through the material world, and then back into myself. But yesterday something changed. Before my final turn left toward home, I heard the thrilling chords of “Foxy Lady.” Someone was playing Hendrix in the park across the street. And I had to cross, take a seat on a bench, and listen. The guitarist was a skinny young man with long black hair and silver rings on his fingers. He looked up into the sky as he played, a smile of satisfaction responding to the fine sounds produced by his sliding fingers. He stood under a tree whose smooth gray branches, reminiscent of ballerina limbs, gently tossed and swayed in the breeze. The thicker branches floated up and down with greater leisure, while the younger, prepubescent ones swept this way and that in juvenile excitement. Between the upper branches, the sun, like a nuclear-powered diamond, exploded dazzling light into my eyes. An undentured homeless lady offered the musician a cigarette, which he accepted, lit, and immediately stuck in the neck of his guitar. A covey of preteens appeared, waiting for the light to change. In the ultimate tribute to the guitarist, two young girls broke off from the group and began to dance to the music. I felt enveloped in a timeless bubble of joyful peace. There was the music and the dancing branches and the glinting sun. At last, I rose, dropped my tribute into the young man’s hat, told him to “Keep on keepin’ on,” and headed home.”