Lost Dog

A hound dog that can't remember where his front porch is because he got lost chasing a squirrel.

I headed west out to Montana, said I'm never comin' home
Closed my eyes and gripped the wheel and let my chest say where to go
But I met God in Greenville County upside down glass on the road
He said, "Boy, you never warmed up, you got used to bein' cold"

We’re like dogs leaving home to explore. Turning ourselves into strays and using our freedom only to realize we’ve strayed much further than we thought.

Home, like it always had been, was no longer just over my shoulder. Usually I can walk through the forest and if there’s a whistle, I know it’s right behind me and from a loved one. I can go back to the porch. Or if there’s an urge to just simply turn around - return - walk back up the front steps - it’s there. The option exist. It’s constant. Until before we know it we’re too far, I can’t hear the whistle, I can’t hear laughter, I can’t see the front porch light.

I got myself on to the Hunt of something. It smelt like a squirrel and I ran after it. A rowdy and impulsive hound dog with a too long tongue swinging from wet lips salivating with Ideas, Impulse, This Moment. Losing all sense of responsibility and caution. Maybe it’s worth it because I got the squirrel and the chase was one of those worthy of being found in Olde Tales! Mouth locked, broken back and the squirrels tail decorates my chin. I can show it to my friends and family and once I have this realization of showing them, excited! I turn and the woods I see are unfamiliar. The land is different I don’t recognize where I am. I drop the squirrel, the rustling of it’s fur on my teeth and bones still cracking was too loud to hear the whistle. That’s why I can’t hear it! Yes yes and the squirrel is at my feet but still no whistling does my ear meet. And I’m from the foothills of the Appalachian’s. Denver told you the lore we’re told in the gravel parking lot of a baptist church: Life is old here. Older than the trees. Around here you’re told to never trust the whistling if you don’t recognize the timber, pedals or brush. In unfamiliar woods, be skeptical of everything. Make sure the bottles are upside down so once it catches the Spirits, they can’t find their way out.

But here I am in a local spot drinking coffee, there’s a banner over my head made of potato sack. ‘Burlap’. It hangs over my head in the corner spot that I purposely chose because I’ve come to realize the center of anything, a room, a conversation, doesn’t make me relaxed. So i’m in the corner under this burlap flag that says;

“See The Good. In Everything” The font is bold and ugly. I look away. Over each side of the flag are little nails, the nails are holding a little string of plush mushrooms and I just think what is going on around here? Really? Then I look back at the computer. I always write on the notes app and the sun is coming in through a window to my right - the window is 18” x 60” which is a strange size in general and so the light comes through, shining of the black notes app screen creating the perfect environment for a Reflection. And I’m looking at myself. Weird Looking. I’ve actually been making eye contact with myself throughout the entirety of typing this paragraph and even challenged myself not to blink. But I did, when typing the word “notes” - 46 words ago.

Now infront of me is the 9-5 final boss. I’m disheveled with black curly hair shaped in some mutated mullet/‘wolf’ cut. The latter of which, ‘wolf’ was told to me by a Food City cashier in Bristol, Tennessee. ‘I like your hair. It’s kind of a mullet but a lot like a wolf cut.’ I said thank you and smiled and walked out and looked at my girlfriend and said “what’s that?” But it kind of matched so I considered that high school cashier something of a prophet. There’s some dark stubble, that meets my mustache. There are blue eyes that look lighter due to the dark under-slept skin surrounding them.

Our guy is wearing a polyester polo shirt with - I’m assuming - the company logo and name on it. This is tucked into khaki pants that kiss at the bottom some sort of mix between sneaker/office wear shoe. His beard is blonde and sharp. His haircut is tight and short. He is drinking a light colored iced refresher of sorts. He sits straight up, like the top of his spine is held by a string in the ceiling. WOW! I am at this point in a state of admiration of this fellow. He has two phones. He picks ones up and then does the impossible, the final sword swing, the killing of the Artist in The Corner - he begins to talk into his phone to send a voice message. “I’ve got to make a call, let me get in touch with my service manager. Now look I tried to call Todd, from Longheart and there’s still not enough power for the entire fleet….” He does this in an above- appropriate volume. Voice talking, eyes locked in on one of his two screens. He is a well oiled machine and I bet he even uses beard cream.

It is wild we find ourselves in a small room together but we live in a different world. Our perspectives are foreign languages. He looks satisfied and it gives me hope. There are multiple characters around, this is a carnival - Entrance of The Gladiators complements burlap sack flags with motivational sayings on them.

My coffee is gone and I believe I’ll get one more before the road. Only this one will be enjoyed with no screens. Thank you for reading. Life this past little bit hasn’t been good. There’s been more black than usual. Self induced. I’ve laid my potential on a flat mirror and chopped it up and - as a weak man does - watched, without intervening, as it disappeared. Did you know there’s a drain at the bottom of everything? And that Joy, Purpose, has a cord that can be pulled and emptied from everything?

Have you seen a greyscale world? It’s okay as long as you remember there’s color out there, that it’s photoreceptors laying in your retina that are darkened. Not the World around you. The Buk said it, “If you’re losing your soul and you know it, then you’ve still got a soul left to lose.”

Writing makes me feel better than anything. It reminds me that my fingers control more than my untrusting thoughts. That there’s an element of Decision, behind ever mental impulse, idea. That I have a lot more control than base impulses. Most importantly it reminds me that You, sometimes, feel that way I do about things. That makes me feel like we’re not too alone, like we’re sharing some spiritually similar experiences.

I’m, as of recent, feeling Hopeful, Good about things. There’s More I can Be Doing and I will. You do the same. Prayers.

With love,

WINSTON

SOULED IDEA