sonora2sonoma

I sometimes recall

an afternoon long ago.

I was sitting on a couch with the father of my first wife

visiting an old friend of his

a poet, an eccentric and intriguing man

with a sizeable mound of empty wine bottles

rising up through the weeds

growing behind his house.

We were drinking beer

and talking of important things–

of life and art and zen–

all matters of terrible import to me

for I was a dreamer

back then.

 

Me in my mid-twenties

and they in their late forties

we carried on.

me mostly listening,

to the exchange

taking place between these two men.

I sensed mystery, excitement

stimulation of the kind

that can occur when people of exceptional intellect

engage in the trade of ideas and concepts

 

I remained silent mostly

not because I had figured out at that point in my life

how much more one can gain by keeping quiet

and listening,

not because I didn’t have that much to add

to the discourse,

for beer can loosen tongues that ought not be set free,

but mostly because I didn’t want to appear foolish

to demonstrate my ignorance

in light of the illumination taking place around me.

 

At a certain point,

I don’t recall exactly when,

our host said something

that struck particular resonance with my father-in-law

he responding with a laugh and a knowing smile aimed at his friend.

I couldn’t quite make out what was said

but, sensing its importance, I sought clarification

and was told, in essence,

that I wouldn’t have understood it had they explained it to me,

that there were just some things

you had to be older

to understand.

 

I have often recalled that afternoon

and what I’ve learned from it,

over time

through the years.

 

17 December 2015

Tim Konrad