Doose's Last Performance, Part 2

This is the next installment of The ShambElla Saga, and the second part of Doose's Last Performance.

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Doose's Last Performance, Part 2: Song

As Doose opened the door to the venue, he was greeted by the sort of friends that were like extras in the movie of one’s life.

Drinking buddies, casual acquaintances, folks who liked to get blasted, listen to music, and let the world float by.

He grew up on the rough side of town with them, partying and raising Hell, so it was only appropriate that they would all go to Hell together.

After grabbing a beer—an IPA, of course—he set up his guitar, hooked into the PA, and laid out a Doosermon he’d had in mind, an introduction to his opener, which was a song everybody here knew and loved.

“Looking out the window at the world outside our walls, we only know that the wind exists because we see and hear its effect. And that only when it bends the trees and howls through the narrow crevices of our cityscape. To taste it, smell it, and feel its touch upon our skin we must surpass the walls and give ourselves to its designs.

We appreciate the gentle breeze, the scent of freshly blooming flowers, the taste of the nearest meal cooking, wafting along to remind us of hearth and home.

But what happens when we are lost in the wilderness and the storm is upon us?

Can we love the storm? Can we allow the tempest to strike to the core of our being, to unravel us, to disperse and rearrange us, to tear away that which was not strong enough to withstand the rigors of reality and leave that which can fly on the currents of evermore? When do we allow the wind to tell us the whole story?”

“Just play the damn song!” an old friend quipped from the audience, and everyone laughed.

“Fuck you, Peter!” Doose responded, laughing with them. “As I was saying,” but here he stopped and pretended to clear his throat, throwing Peter a knowing look. “Can I resume, Peter? Is that okay with you?”

Peter laughed. “Sure, oh great sage and eminent drunkie!” This was an inside joke between the two, who both read and loved Stephen King’s The Dark Tower.

“Okay, as I was saying: the wind comes around, like the story of our history on repeat. The wind wants us to learn. In its impartial way it is our greatest teacher. The very breath of life is tied intricately to the tumult of the raging wind. It billows, it bellows, it blows! Without love or hate, without malice it invades everything, reminds us that our vulnerability doesn’t disappear behind the wall.

Did we build our shelter out of respect for what the wind has to teach us or fear of what it might do to us?

Respect and understanding of the laws of nature have allowed us to fly on that wind.

Fear of the laws of nature have provoked us to murder each other in the name of gods, ideals, and other phantasmagorical conjurations—dust devils, if you ken—that were never capable of protecting us.

What the wind has to teach us is this: we cannot control the storm, but we can control our selves. We can innovate ways to deal with what we cannot control.

No creature or creation can fly on this earth without the wind. A bird, a plane, a rocket, all of them must harness the power of what they cannot control in a majestic dance of split-second calculations, where passion meets precision, where instinct meets intellect, and success is never guaranteed.

It’s up to us whether we hide behind our walls or walk out into the storm. It is not for us to decide what decisions others will make.

When I say “I don’t care what I am” I don’t mean that we shouldn’t care how our actions affect others or that we can or should be whatever-whenever to suit the whim of the moment; but rather that we should be so perfectly in tune with our selves, our individual purpose, our meaning-of-life, that we no longer have to question it.

Thus are we saved.”

O how this cold wind blows,

Chilling me to the bone.

No one and nothing knows

Whither it comes or goes…

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Stumbling along, finding a way.

Sing a sad song just for today.

I don’t know where I am.

I was blown away

By the winds of change…

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Am I in the wrong, living my own way?

Sang a sad song about yesterday.

I don’t know who I am.

I was torn away

By the winds of change…

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I spent so long searching for the Way.

It was in my song all along, every single day.

I don’t care what I am.

I was saved today

By the winds of change…