The only way to fly

Eyes open and I am awake. For a second I forget completely where I am or what day it is. Time is a little squiggly too, like I’m not in the same year I went to sleep in the night before. As if I’m back in the 80s.

It takes a few moments to adjust before it all comes clear and then I am back to reality. The party that began in Arizona in February is still chugging along. The seeds that were planted are sprouting trees fast. The songs that were started are becoming complete. But it’s not at the finish line yet. There is more songs to be sung. Back in Arizona, Geoff just had a baby. So the party is in full swing with him. The Ireland branch of the party ended up in Bundoran at the weekend, and through a series of connecting dots, I found myself sitting across from Johnny Marr while he handed me various guitars to play. We jammed on some rockabilly for a while and talked for hours. They say don’t meet your heroes, but that’s nonsense. I say DO meet your heroes, specially if they are as cool and sound as Johnny Marr. Next stop on the party train could be anywhere. There is lots of talk but as always it is loose. The universe has ideas and we sit and await our orders for whatever it has in store for us next. And also, planning is overrated. Planning can get you into trouble. Or as Bob Dylan says, “thought will f**k you up”.

For example, while driving through Germany recently, we ‘thought’ we knew the correct road to take, because that was part of the ‘plan’. But we found ourselves stuck in rush hour traffic. That’s when we decided to turn rush hour into happy hour, and swerved off the main road and down a little track that led us to a village, where we dined and had a most memorable evening. We continued our journey on instinct and avoided all thought or logic. It worked out well. It’s the only way to fly.