Make me a milkshake

from Conversations with Nic

     If you wrestle with time and survive like some have wrestled with sea serpents, maybe you can rise to the surface, eventually, to claim your rights, full selfhood.  Time is, after all, one of the common elements in escaping Nic’s pull.  Sometimes it hits you like a thunderclap or like the boom from the old camera bulbs that exploded when the photographer stomped on a miniature bellows. (Images were captured on plates like time can capture our lives.)  The sound of the boom snaps us into another reality.  We’re transported to another dimension of life, taken to an island through the ethers.  At the very least we know that something has gone through a transformation.  Somehow you’ve gotten through a wall, a diaphragm, or the sticky cocoon has crackled open because the heat of this existence had to emerge.  It always will.  Something drives me through all the twists and turns in the labyrinth like a luge run and brings me up to the street level.

     Something major has shifted.  It’s like that old joke.  You sit down at the luncheonette counter and say, “Make me a milkshake.”   Pretending to wave a magic wand the counter person says, “Boom!  You’re a milkshake.”  So if you’re moving ahead now it’s because some key ingredient has been added and the soda jerk had a sense of humor.

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