Endless Night

4

Nouveau frisson — brief moment of emotional excitement; a shudder of emotion; a thrill.

It's how I feel when, artistically, I come up with something I think extraordinary, even if I delight in that belief just for a moment, I told Jim yesterday after our arrival in Honolulu. Beautiful land. Ancient land. Now the feeling has come over me again as he and his band hovered above on stage like holy figures. I was Ginsberg wanting to shout Holy! Holy! Holy! Oh, holy life. Holy man. Holy men. Holy ears. Holy mouth. Holy! Holy! Holy!

I stood on the floor with the crowd. I had little desire to be a special guest and view the concert from the side of the stage. No, no, that stage was sacred for the time being. The true magic was being below them and gazing up at the only four figures engulfed in startlingly bright lights. I wondered if they could even see us or simply hear the screams. A shiver startled me. This could either be a divine experience or a wicked one, the crowd and I screaming souls in Hell begging the Saviors to spare a little water.

Love, love, love. Love and kindness surrounded me. This was no Hell. Paradise. Nirvana. The Promised Land. Was the feeling from the acid I'd taken from a strange hand? No; love was my soul; love was my being. Deep inside. I was love, not the offspring of evil. Plunk, clang, plang. Ray the magician. Heartbeats filled my ears. John John John beating hearts. Twists and turns manifested as physical sounds. I churned and twisted and flew through a galaxy of colors with Robby. Love. I was— a scream thrashed from the heavens. My soul jumped to the cosmos. But when my eyes opened I was not high enough. There, they still stood above me. If I was the Universe they were the Heavens. Jim leaned on the tilted microphone stand, one foot on the base of the stand and the other on the stage floor. His hands cupped the itty bitty device that sent his scream through planes.

All despair abandon ye who enter here!

Magnificent being, Jim in that white buttoned shirt like a Guru or Shaman. Take his hand and learn his ways.

God, what would happen tonight in that hotel room I delicately avoided stepping inside? God, magnificent being, my mind was swirling with the music. I could reach out and touch them, touch them all, touch the entire crowd, feel them all and pick and choose what qualities I'd like to take with me.

Dear man, dear Jim, that dear energy of dear Jim jumping and screaming and rattling and loving and jumping and screaming and rattling and loving, he was charitable with his body and spirit, and to recharge a bottle of whisky made short but continuous visits.

The music never quite ended within me, but when the show was over there was a hand that spoke of being the guide to the labyrinth. I took the hand and floated across that sacred stage. Another realm I entered. Ancient land I touched. Rumbling oceans and howling winds I heard. Lautréamont's Maldoror?

Night dawned. Stars sprinkled. We were flâneurs when the sky darkened. Madly, I envisioned myself as Jim's mistress and muse, just as Duval to Baudelaire.

Les Fleurs du Mal, Les Fleurs du Mal, Les Fleurs du Mal, I mumbled, floating, bumping, tripping on sand, my arm no longer my arm but Jim's, who claimed and held it.

"We always find our way to the ocean," I said. "We met on a beach. All beaches are now holy."

Silence. His silence. I wanted his words, his voice. Speak! Chanté!

"Everything is holy," I whispered. "You are holy. Robby, Ray, John, they're all holy."

Our feet stopped floating across the land. He gazed down at me and even the ocean silenced. I wished it was a hollow stare. I was a paradox. I wanted to be seen for who I was but I was terrified of being seen.

"And you, are you holy, Faye?" he softly asked.

Child of Satan! Child of Satan!

The ocean rumbled.

I trembled.

I wanted to sink into the ground and become one with the sand when his soft hand held my jaw. He whispered, "You're holy, Faye."

Art thou pale for weariness . . .

Yes, yes.

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth . . .

His hands held my face and slipped beneath my skin.

Wandering companionless . . .

We'd be one. One.

Among the stars that have a different birth . . .

His lips touched mine.

We slipped to the sand. Clothes begone. Worldly possessions begone. Self begone. Merge the bodies and minds to merge the spirits.

I dove into his eyes. Now also my eyes. The color of the ocean when land was no longer near. Leave land, leave the world, leave it all. I could sail with him a while. Become his disciple.

I was water. I moved with the water. I breathed with water. I was water. He was the pale figure long ago sunken. And he sunk into me. It was him filling me instead of I filling him. My blueness faded and I was pale with delight and weariness. We became a shapeless white mass singing an ode to the west and its winds and waters.

This was freedom. This was freedom. This was freedom.

A Spiritual Hunt.