2011年9月20日 Did you ever?

"Did you ever feel love towards anyone since your last girlfriend?" She said to me while I was driving. 

I kept driving trying to complicate the clarity of answering by adding excessive details, something that I'm not only good at but can also make it seem natural, which it was. At some point I dropped her off, came inside to chat with her and her mom. They were nice to me and it was good to catch up. It seems that people my age are getting busier by the day.

When I left, I couldn't help the desire to drive more. I had to drive. I had to get out. I had to get in. There were lights in the sky, from the poles I passed, and nothing to reflect on them but my thoughts and feelings. I think my flight engineer had bailed out at this point, I couldn't get anyone over the intercom.

I kept driving. Listening to the music, whose prescription for numbness, and also depending on the feeling, provided a quaint degree of clarity. I drove to the cemetery again, thinking about how good it felt to drive around at night, even if it was only 10pm.

I thought about those whom I had a chance to share this feeling with, I thought about how in that car we could move the world around us. We could move the lights around us, and we could move. Though it didn't change much, outside of consumption of gasoline, I couldn't help but understand the emotional, if not intellectual necessity of driving at night-time. It felt good I could have at least shared it with my friends, even if I have to do it alone at times. It felt good. Or was it because the cabin was pressurized?

Who else can understand this feeling? Who else has said, "Enough." Who else has said, "Right now." Who else has said, "I must get out. I must do these things to get back in the game, to get back to myself." Who else does these things? Who unlocks that door? Only to put the keys in the ignition, and drive somewhere with no intention of escaping, no intention of confrontation, no intention of anything other than getting back to one's own self. One's own thoughts and feelings. Was there any intention of forgiveness? Was there any intention of searching? Expectations? No, there was no use for such feelings. I could see black spots ahead of me. Little black clouds.

There is a method of farming called crop rotation, most people already are aware of this, but the idea is that you don't just plant one thing year after year. It ruins the soil. So with our own souls and mind, why do we do it anyway? Does not the soil of our mind and heart need time to heal so we can go back again? To move forward again? The land doesn't change, the crops don't (really) change, but the seasons do and will.

Just like the words of G-d, and related proverbs, the words don't change, but we do. What we saw yesterday, we will not feel the same way about it tomorrow or in the future, or maybe while that feeling has change, has it gotten stronger? I wouldn't know, nor am I expecting anyone to know for sure.

But I'll still get back in the car. Without navigation, radio-operator, without my tail-gunner, and so forth. And I'll still drive around at night. Wondering, thinking and feeling while I let the world around me move. Just like the smooth well lit roads and the difficult twisted dark hills, in my mind I will drive through them as often as I can. Co-pilot or not, no one could say for sure if we would make it home anyhow. Could it still be called a Superfortress if there is only one aboard?

I'm not supposed to answer these questions to begin with. 

So was I supposed to ask them?

I could taste oak on the tip of my tongue.

How soon would it be before
I had to rotate the corn in the field?
Corn. Maize. Maze?
I could make a maze,
I could do so much with it.
I hope I can come back to the maize soon.

I will wait with oak on my tongue, 

keeping me warm throughout the winter.