all there is December 2, 2024

 

 I went to Peggy’s grave Sunday, stopping off at the flower shop with hopes of buying some kind of unicorn, but had to settle for another tiny stuffed bear, and the usual red rose I leave around the holidays.

For some reason, the unicorn has become symbolic of something, though I’m not clear what. Our poet once claimed she wanted a unicorn when she was young until she discovered it wasn’t real and had to settle for horses.

I posted an old song I wrote for Peggy, who was also obsessed with unicorns.

Most recently, our poet mentioned unicorns again, I think she may have named one of the horses she rides “unicorn.”

I saw a unicorn doll down in Asbury Park last Friday, a bit startling since a short time later I saw the whales and dolphins off shore, ironic to say the least.

Freud and old Dr. Thomas would be having a field day with all of this.

Neither believed in coincidence. Jung assumed we all are connected through what he called the collective unconscious, something I tend to believe as well.

We’re approaching the fifth anniversary of my best friend’s death. He always believed in much of this as well, especially after our mutual close friend died many years ago, and his spirit kept coming back – ones as a crimpled pigeon, later as a bat, and finally, as a voice from the grave, after lightning hit my friend’s apartment and fried his answering machine, leaving one message, which happened to be from our dead friend. This might have been coincidence, except for the fact the same thing had happened to that dead friend when still alive, lightning striking his house, leaving only one message on his answering machine – from my best friend.

Something similar happened after my best friend’s death in early 2020. He died in late January, but we could not hold a memorial due to the outbreak of COVID.

I was on my way back home from a press conference announcing the closing down of all but essential services in mid march, when I stopped at the Salvation Army on whim. There I found a guitar on sale that was the same model my best friend owned. If that wasn’t enough, on the counter was a relatively rare game, a mind challenging game he and I had obsessively played (often stoned). I bought both. I still own both. I still think these things were a message from my departed best friend.

Living in the material world endows ordinary things with meaning, often symbolic, and so my seeing the unicorn doll and the whales at the same place after both played an important role in personal mythology means something, even if I do not know what.

Last year, the poet showed up in Asbury Park for her mother’s birthday just prior to Thanksgiving. She danced on the sand.

A few days later, the day after Thanksgiving during my annual trip to Asbury, I saw the whale rise up out of the water near where she had danced.

Coincidence? Most likely.

This year, I saw the unicorn and the whales and dolphins somewhat south near Ocean Grove, a block from the Majestic where our poet once stayed (possibly more than once).

All this, of course, is the raving of a madman, an old man looking to read tea leaves and determine what they mean.

Maybe nothing.

But it is all there is.

 

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