Here is the shadow again being dogged by the left-handed midget in strawberry fields...
The shadow, dressed-up as an old snake and in disguise as a gun-shot wound was making waves down 59th on fifth when an almighty roar began processing the beat-up sighs of all the passersby and turning them into generated assumptions in the avoidance scheme.
This startled the shadow momentarily, and as he looked to see where the noise was coming from he bumped into a steel lamp-post that was sticking out of the pavement as if it had nowhere else to go and was just hanging around waiting.
After a quick curse to placate the gods for his sins, the shadow carried on into the city and blocked his ears with paper to defend against all the roaring coming from the machine masts on every corner that were giving out radiation waves for the masses to break their brains into infant sound-bites to become good for nothing, but easy to process, later when everyone was the same and predictability could be counted in sheep.
The left-handed midget was selling newspapers on the corner and trying hard to look normal. This of course was a disguise and the shadow knew really that the midget was spying on him, but quite why he didn’t know; maybe he was looking for treasure; if there was any treasure he sure didn’t have it on him; but maybe the midget thought the shadow would lead him to it.
The shadow looked around then and sure enough, scattered about him were the members of the midget’s gang, one-eyed cutthroats and ruffians all, and doing their best to blend in.
One was doing a shoe shine act outside the Green Cafe and growling at the passersby. Another one was in the crowd and playing at pickpocket and was doing well as far as could be seen and passing his ill gotten gains to a grumpy looking dwarf who was wearing clothes that were far too big and gave the impression he’d shrunk down suddenly and was not happy about it.
The shadow flagged a passing cab to Penn Station and then subbed up to the park and got out near Strawberry Fields, the memorial to John Lennon where the fans still chalk the ground daily to mourn his passing.
He sat on a bench close by to pay his respects for awhile and looked at the Dakota building where John had lived and wondered why he’d choose that place to live.
And then the shadow heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. How they’d followed him to here he couldn’t say but sure enough there was one of the gang wearing a top hat that poked above the bush.
By now the shadow was beginning to tire of their spying on him and forever dogging his heels; he thought he’d left all this behind him in the town on the border where he’d gone looking for his lost friend. He’d heard rumours of him but he was nowhere to be found and after further searching and becoming lost in the desert of lost souls had found a map that said: what you’re looking for is closer to home so go there to find it. So the shadow took a flight back; but they must have got wind of where he was; and so here he was and here they were and what now?
The shadow took out the map from his pocket and stared at it hoping to find a clue. The top hat appearing over his shoulder alerted him to the midget’s presence.
“The map to the ghost dance,” said the midget and took off his hat and threw it at the shadow as a diversion. As the shadow turned to deal with him the left-handed midget grabbed the map right out of his hands and ran off with it to disappear amongst the tourists.
The shadow found himself alone on the bench and feeling too tired all of a sudden to give chase after the map, which had probably told him all it had to say anyway; and so he sat back on the bench and felt free at last and also felt that maybe it was a good day to be in Strawberry Fields with nowhere else to be.
Well you can only sit around for so long before you just have to move and do something, but sometimes it’s not apparent on first glance what there is to do.
Sometimes you stand up and walk left, and then walk right, and then stare into space awhile.
So there he was staring into space on the bridge of his defeat with nothing to say which way to go.
It is at these times that you look for signs but if there are none then you just put one foot in front of the other and start walking in the direction you’re facing and see what happens.
Sometimes a door will open that will take you somewhere, but most times you just find yourself walking and walking until so much time has gone by you’ve forgotten why or how you came to be on the road you’re on.
Your preferences of course will lead you down side roads that most often go nowhere, and a lot of time can be wasted on these side roads.
Do all roads lead home?
This was a question that floundered around in the shadow’s mind until he grew dizzy with the thinking of it, and when he looked up he found he was still on the bridge of his defeat; but at least no one was chasing him, and that was something surely.
There are many tides on the bridge of defeat: despair, ennui, hopelessness, depression, doubt and many more and all of them can leave you with a sense of loss and without purpose.
There are some who will give up and check out in this place; the road is littered with the dust of their bones and desperate haunted sighs and the lost whispering of their mind that forever echoes their defeat.
And there are those who carry on, who find the strength from somewhere to just keep going even when there’s nowhere to get to and all seems hopeless and bleak.
The shadow made the decision not to give up and it was just this deciding that gave him purpose and a sense that all was not lost; for while there’s breath there’s hope.
Sometimes life makes it that way: that the outer road can only be found from the inside before it will appear on the outside.
End of part 9
Images from Pixabay