the dream about the ocean

Dio, Holy Diver (Rhapsody)

I had the dream about the ocean last night. Not like a dream I usually have, but The Dream about The Ocean one has, brought on by the onset of pool season (a perfect portrait thereof is up top) and my friend Terry's passing. The spread at his wake is in the middle. I was out "past the breakers," wherever that is - I know oceans more as a metaphor than as a fact - and Maya was sort of there and sort of not and maybe we were drowning and maybe not and could see the shore as a thin sandy line and I couldn't remember if you were supposed to float it out or swim parallel to shore or what.

As I'm typing this, I'm listening to my friend Jim read the obituary I wrote about Terry on his radio show, which is a strange elation. I feel a little adrift but, of course, not really. I have dad issues and Terry was a dad kind of friend, and etc. and I'm here, and he's here in the ways that the departed are, and we sent him off in great style, I think. Jill brought over a mini-keg of Cherokee homebrew beer (bottom) to the wake . I wrote a story about Terry and all our friends getting transcendental on this stuff that will appear in the next issue of the Oxford American.

I am not corny enough to say that I am choked up about Ronnie James Dio's death even though "Rainbow in the Dark" was likely one of my first favorite songs, my jam in 5th grade. Only one bus was running this morning (summer schedule already) and in the interminable wait I listened to all of Holy Diver just to get to "Rainbow in the Dark." When let off, the little staccato opening made me want to break into a run and I pictured the most cliche action movie fight scene, one where the hero's mettle is proven as cuz' it's free and I see that it's me railed, devil horns aloft, in the heat, in the dark, and choked up a little, just like I did when I saw the coffee urns from Highland Coffees - where Terry daily held court - at the wake yesterday afternoon, and it's allergies. I ain't cryin' so shut up already.