tryin’ to git it back in my soul

She came at me with those baby blue infant eyes and said, how are you feeling, baby? 

And I just shrugged and mumbled something, and she said what'd you say, and I shook my head and tried to play it off, whatever it was I was trying to play off. 

She said she was beginning to get worried; I said worried about what, she said, worried with the state of my mind; I said life is a state of mind; she said whatcha mean? I said, I'm not sure, but all I know is I'm waiting like Godot, and it's scary as hell being so alone with my feelings.

Then, shining a light deep within me, she showed me those parts of me I tried to keep hidden. I was scared. She didn't care. She just kept shining that light on me. Want you to feel it, she said. You gotta get it out. It's deep. Down there deep. You gotta get it out, or else you're gonna be

stuck. And then where are you gonna be? It's not healthy. It's suffocating you. Sitting home all day. Moaning. Crying. Can't do that. Eatin' you up. It's gotta stop. You gotta come to terms with it. She shined that light so deep in me that I felt things I hadn't felt in twenty-thirty-forty tears. It felt like something was about to climb out of me.

All those crazy feelings I'd kept hidden from the general public. Churning away, blending together. It was rough. 

Feel the pain, she said. Feel it like a knife cutting into your heart. Feel it like that. 

But I've run into a snag, I told her. I can't find the words to express all that pain inside of me. I don't know how to interpret the pain. I need a translator. But who's gonna be able to translate all that mess? No one but me. But I need to find out what it all means. I don't know what happened to me. I don't know why I keep stopping and starting, being all mute, disengaged, disinterested, disconnected, distant. In disbelief. Disarray. Want to disappear. Feel so much disapproval. 

That's when the trumpet solo began.

She said listen to Lee Morgan. He can help you articulate all that pain you're feeling. Just listen to him play the trumpet. He's feeling what you're feeling right now. He's lost something. He's trying to forget something. Remember something. I'm still determining where he's going, but he's following a path. Hear that? He's remembering something. Someone he knows lives somewhere along that path. Hear the way he's fingering those valves? You feel it, honey? You see it? Touch it, taste it. It's your pain. Lying there. 

I'm trying to see it, I said. I can't quite see it yet. It's somewhere in there. It's a little blurry. I can feel it, but I can't see it. Still waiting. I want to say it's blue, though. It's like the blue coming from Lee Morgan's trumpet.

Yes, baby, that's what I'm talking about. The blues. The beautiful blues.

It's there, I said. It's there. I felt those blues years ago. I remember now. I used to be afraid of the blues. When I was younger. They'd come find me, I'd hide. But I'm still hiding. I'm gonna be forty-six; I'm still hiding. 

I know you are, baby. Hiding from the light. Hiding from the blues. But the blues will find you one way or another, and you'll have to welcome the blues into your life. No matter how rude it is. No matter what kinds of demands it makes on you. You'll have to look the blues in the eye and make some sense of it.

Yeah, I said I will. 

That's it, baby, that's it. Feel it. Where's the pain coming from? Who was the cause of it? Who are you gonna blame it on this time? You gotta conquer it, baby. Make it your slave.

I took a deep breath. I tried to think of something. Remember something. Tried to hum that Lee Morgan trumpet solo. It was singing to me. I could feel Lee Morgan speaking to me. I could feel his pain. Why couldn't I feel mine? I was beginning to breathe a little deeper. Could feel the muscles in my neck and back tightening up. I didn't want to say anything that would incriminate me. I was still uncertain of what all those

feelings meant. They were still buried very deep within me. And then I felt my heart flutter. Slight pain in my wrist. Numbness. My foot was falling asleep.

Where are you going in your head, baby, she said. Where are you going now? 

I don't know. I'm thinking about a time when someone mistreated me. Or maybe I mistreated them. My memory of it still needs to be fixed. I am trying to remember if somebody did something to me or if I did something to them. Or did something to me.

Now you're beginning to get to the root of something, baby, she said.

The root, I said. The root. I paused. Tried to recall the meaning of the word. Root. Figure out its context. Her context. Chest pain. Back muscles stiff. Head cool. Mouth dry. Left wrist numb. Deep breath. It's

never easy, I said. Never easy bein' me.

Aw, now you're just being self-pitying, she said. No need for that now. Listen to Pharaoh Sanders. There's a master plan somewhere inside of you. You gotta find it.

Yeah, I said, without really knowing what she said or meant. I swallowed. Scratched my chest. Why was it so hard for me to get to the root of my pain? Why did I keep sidestepping it? Just for Comfort's sake? I swallowed again. Lit a cigarette. Poured a bourbon. Scratched my chest again. She was still there, watching me. I was feeling very self-conscious.

I didn't want her to be watching me. I felt like I was on display. A Pain Artist. Sitting there. But it was unfair because it seemed like she was more aware of my pain than I was. She was sitting there waiting for me to discover my own pain while she knew what it was all along. I wouldn't say I liked that. She even smiled, daring me to figure out my pain and challenge me to dig deeper.

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.

The Creator has a master plan.

Peace and happiness for every man.

The Creator makes but one demand.

Happiness through all the land.

Listen to Pharaoh, she said.

Yes, I said, I want peace and happiness. I want to find peace and happiness. I need to figure out how to find it. It's like I'm punishing myself for something. I'm stopping myself from progressing. I'm punishing myself for… I stopped there. I didn't know what I was punishing myself for. I didn't know what else to say. 

You can't fall asleep now, she said. You'll lose the momentum. You'll lose all the good work you've done. You'll forget everything. You'll have to start from scratch again tomorrow. 

I haven't done anything, I said. I haven't accomplished anything yet. All I've done is listen to you tell me I've got to dive deeper and listen to Pharaoh's sax and Lee Morgan's trumpet. 

Because what you're feeling is in the music. You got to listen to the music. Then you'll be able to express your feelings.

Yeah, I said, and then the radio played Adam's Apple by Wayne Shorter, made me think of the Garden of Eden. I smiled and laughed, and she said what's so funny? And I told her nothing; it was just a nervous reaction or something. Then, the sadness I was feeling last week started coming back strong. It happened while I was driving to work. I just started thinking about where the hell the previous ten years of my life had gone, man? Where'd they go? And why am I still working for the same company doing the same job? That reality hit me really hard. The truth of that nearly broke me. It was raining, and I almost slammed into the car in front of me and stopped at a red light. That's how engrossed I was in that sad feeling. I missed slamming into the rear end of that Cadillac by only a couple feet or so. And my heart started racing. And the rain kept coming down. And my windshield fogged up, so I turned on the defroster. All because of that sad feeling I was experiencing about working for the same company and doing the same job for ten years. That was a real eye-opener for me.

Ah, she said, my poet. Dreamer. Lonely fellow. Boots too big, trousers baggy, shirt untucked, Kangol hat too small.

I poured another bourbon and became even more frightened.

It was going to be another long night.