Over the weekend I discovered a mix CD that an acquaintance made for me. Thinking back in the history of my sometimes fleeting, sometimes lasting, and always significant connections, there have more often than not an exchange of music in whatever new format. Perhaps, that is the nature in which my life veered as first a passion and then into a career that makes people express themselves in the medium of sound. The dualistic side of me also expresses sentiments in words to which books are given earlier and found much later – in transition – when needed. On this mix was a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” by Letters To Cleo. Truth be told, it’s a really great cover and I’m a complete and utter hater of covers, mostly. But, this particular cover started playing as a day of Spring seeped into my Land Rover’s windows during a drive around Washington Square Park. One of those much-needed soul-lifting type of days injected with Vitamin D from the long-lust sunshine of Spring warding off Winter’s discontent. The weather is just right, the sun kisses your cheeks, and the world wraps its arms around you, for just a moment, to let you know that everything is as it should be.
It was in the verse, “Now here I go again, I see, the crystal visions / I keep my visions to myself / It’s only me / Who wants to wrap around your dreams and… / Have you any dreams you’d like to sell? / Dreams of loneliness… / Like a heartbeat drives you mad… /
In the stillness of remembering / What you had / And what you lost,” I found perspective. That moment left an indelible imprint in my soul; the moment I could now put a name to this particular song, a face, an experience that would forever be conjured up in any future playing of the song.
There is nothing easy with the ending of a connection, really, and if it’s too easy to disconnect then perhaps you should look around at the company you’re keeping. The point is…you never can fully disconnect because you absorb them into you. But, that won’t stop you from trying to abandon them (and perhaps you will). After all, life is a mix tape.