In My Life Redux

I have to say I’m not feeling myself this evening. It all started this morning when I hopped into my convertible and started the engine.

A gas line explosion rocked me out of my shoes and out of my seat. It had me hurtling twenty yards into the open air. During my flight I had the odd notion that if I could but grab hold of some of those scattering pigeons, everything would be all right. I didn’t and it wasn’t. It was just my Looney Tunes frame of mind. Which is where I always find myself when I’m in any kind of danger.

“What would Bugs do?" is what I usually ask myself. The question makes me laugh and then the ensuing pain - a result of whatever horrible predicament I happen to find myself - doesn’t seem so bad. But not this time.

It seems landing in the middle of that road was only half my problem. The steamroller was the other half of the equation.

I have to say. It fucking hurt.

Funny thing is, at the moment I feel better then I felt in ages. My mind is clear. My thoughts lucid. As though I had never abused it with a bad thought, alcohol, tobacco, or my favorite tin of snuff. Yes, you heard me right. Snuff. Call me old fashioned.

Only problem is, I have no discernible body to attach my mind to. I feel as light as air and can actually feel the wind blow through my thoughts.
I move at will. Without thought of putting one foot in front of the other. Or making a leaping motion when I come across a hole in the road.
Am I the ghost some people people claim to see? I don’t know. All I know is I don’t seem to be seen by anyone. I flow through people without so much as cringing at the thought of bumping into something or someone.

It’s not a bad deal, really. If there are others like me, and I’m sure there are, I’m not sure how I’d know it. In the mean time I’m loving my new found freedom.

At the moment I’m at Strawberry Fields in Central Park. the site is across the street from the Dakota, where John Lennon was murdered. Murder’s a great word. It’s cold, blunt and to the point. The way the word should be.

It is quite crowded here. A lot of people show up the same time every year to remember the life and death of John Winston Lennon. Born 9 October 1940. Died 8 December 1980. Age forty.

They say life begins at forty, but had he lived, I don’t see how he could have topped his first four decades. I’m dead at the age of fifty seven and I hadn’t even climbed my first mountain. Let alone the several that man had climbed before his demise.

I’m not fond of crowds, but this one I don’t mind. They are singing Imagine at the moment. Some are smiling. Some are teary. Some are wondering what all the fuss is about.

“You guys know any Taylor Swift?” a young girl shouts. She doesn’t get the moment.

I decide to take a stroll. I say the word stroll out of habit. But no sooner do I say it that I find myself gliding across Central Park West and am in front of the entrance to the Dakota. A different sort of crowd here. Some peering in through the gated entrance asking a guard if they can take pictures of the blood stains near the courtyard where Lennon was shot. The guard is nonplussed. He’s heard those requests and worse.

“There are no blood stains,” he tells them.

“Is Yoko coming out?”

“No,” said the guard.

They shrug, snap a few photos and head on over to Strawberry Fields. I flow through the gated entrance and sense I am not alone.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” I heard someone say.

“What is?”

“The spirit,” he says. “It never leaves you. But it’s all good. I can’t remember the last time I had a bad thought. I’m not even sure what a bad thought is. It seems to be a phrase left over from life. You get to go anywhere now, you know.”

“Anywhere,” I say. I now know who I’m talking to, but somehow names no longer seem important.

“To the moon and back,” he says. “Think it and you’re on your way.”

“Of all the places to go,” I say, “Why come here?”
“They come, so I come,” he says. “It’s a fun day, considering.”

“Yes?” I say.

“Considering I’m not here anymore,” he says. “But I love all the singing and so I come. I was in the park a moment ago. Listening to the music. Then I heard a thought. Must have been yours. You wondered what I had on my mind the moment I took a last breathe.”

“I did wonder,” I say.

“I thought, What now?” he says. “Now I know. What was you’re last thought?”

“What would Bugs do?” I say.

“Bugs Bunny?” he says. “Brilliant. I like it.”

Two elderly women peer in through the gate and start singing.

“I know that song,” he says.

“Me too,” I say. “It was a favorite.”

“Shall we join them?”

“Yes,” I say.

We become one with the girls and see the world through their eyes. They are teary and their voices tremble. We smile. And as we do, they smile. Their voices no longer tremble and their tears are of the joyful sort.

There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain

All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends
I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more