Coming back to the city after a year's absence is difficult and often surprising. There are many things that I have to get used to. For example, the traffic lights in Japan have a long hold period from when they turn yellow, to when they to red, to when the traffic starts coming in the other direction. Actually both sides have a red signal for about 5 seconds just in case the intersection isn’t clear. On my bike I always continued crossing the intersection after the light changed to red. In the US as soon as that light changes, the cars are coming. Watch out. Of course there’s the difference of driving on the right side versus on the left side. My brain is totally confused. For a year I was screaming ,"LEFT, LEFT, LEFT ", in my mind as I was driving. Now I have to go back to , "RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT."

Walking around San Francisco now, I see a surprising number of Japanese things that just didn't register before. Things like the giant sake containers that are outside some Japanese restaurants. I always thought they were floats for ships or fishing lines. Of course I also see a lot of Japanese people. I want to go up to them and say something in Japanese so that I won't forget the little that I've learned. Now I can understand the people in China and many countries around the world who come up to people who look like they might speak English, start talking. They too just want to practice. But they are so irritating sometimes . Perhaps I am irritating to the Japanese people I see in San Francsico too.

People act differently here too. In Japan people are generally much more reserved. They listen more. They are more passive. They seem to communicate non-verbally. Silence in groups is not uncommon. Here I feel like I have to fight to get a word in. And if I don't say something I feel like I will get swallowed up into a void and people will think of me as shy, quiet, or as one who has nothing to say. Women in Japan seem to be much more sensitive. They fit around you like a glove. Their attention is warm and comforting. I've met 2 women since I've been back and after a few minutes I felt overwhelmed by both of them.

I went to sit in with some friends who play jazz in a restaurant last night. I was a little nervous. Maybe I had had a bit too much to drink. I met many new people. One was named Twilight. Another was named Magic. That's San Francisco for you. As we played I looked out on the handful of people in the place. One was a woman perhaps in her late 50's sitting by herself. She had gray hair that was cut into a butch cut. She was wearing a dinner jacket and pants. It was Saturday night. She was alone, doodling on a pad and listening to our poor music. She looked sad. I wondered what had happened to her, how she had come her that night, why she was alone, how it felt for her to be alone.

At the break I went up to her and talked to her. I felt sorry for her. Her eyes lit up.

"Hi, my name is Magic.I read tarot cards for a living. I come to San Francisco every weekend and go to Fisherman’s Wharf to read cards for tourists. "

I looked at her doodle. It looked like a sketch for a painting.

"I'm also an artist and a poet."

A light went off in my brain.

"Perhaps you would like to read a poem while we play jazz in the

background. "

"I'd love to."

I told her I would talk to Nick the leader of the band about it. Nick was open to just about anything. That’s why he named the band the "Free Band. "

For our first number Magic got up and started reciting her poem. The only problem was that there was no microphone for her. Jazz musicians are not famous for there ability to play soft. The Free Band was not able to get down low enough so that the audience could hear her. We played a free jam in the background as she started to recite. It took a lot of concentration but I was able to make out what she had to say.

I' m not a big poetry fan, but as I listened her words drew me into her world. It was a poem about love, about relationships, about finding that place in your heart and letting it open. Release. It was about love and sex; good sex, healing sex. As she spoke the words I felt like that part of me that loves was being showered by warm water. I was under a waterfall naked and dancing. As she talked about the joys of good love she looked straight into my eyes with a look of knowing and hunger. How long had it been? Here was a woman who knew what she wanted. She knew the shortest path to her joy. I felt uncomfortable. I wasn't attracted to this woman in the least. I was just trying to be kind. But as I listened to her words, I felt myself drawn into the currents of her tide. I was powerless to resist as wave upon wave of verse broke over me. She was reciting only for me now. The other musicians were playing and not listening to her. The audience couldn't hear.

She finished. There were polite applause. I clapped too and couldn't tear my eyes from hers. She smiled at me. It was a knowing smile, a dirty smile. A smile that says, "yes we are going to get it together later, you and me."

We continued playing the set. I played a solo and got into it. There was some connection there. The ideas were flowing. I was listening to the entire sound and the band started to grove. As I finished I felt good. I looked around but no one seemed to notice my good playing. But then I looked at Magic and she smiled that smile again. She had listened to every note. "Yes I heard you Frank. You played wonderfully. You played just for me. And I loved it", I felt her thoughts waft over.

"Well actually I wasn't playing just for you Magic and I really don't know if I'm up to an affair tonight. Could we be just friends do you think," I wafted right back. But I don't think she got my waft because she kept smiling back at me. All through the set she did that. At the end of the set she made a big show of getting ready to leave. Like I was supposed to go over there and ask her to stay, get her number, tell her that I loved her. But I did adore that poem. I wanted to hear it again. Knowing the time was ripe for misunderstanding I walked over to her and told her how much I enjoyed her poem.

"It was great. I really liked it a lot. Incredible. Do you think I could get a copy of it."

She looked at me demurely. "I don't have a copy of it with me, but I have one back at my house. Do you have a car?"

I looked up at her and she gave me that dirty grin.

And then I had to decide. Did I want to get involved with this woman. Was I up to having an affair to a woman who I wasn't remotely attracted to. Could I look past her weathered exterior, her stretched and pulled body. Obviously she had an astounding inner beauty. Her poem had stopped me in my tracks...left me lost and wondering in a meadow. I looked at her again. I drew a deep breath and said the words that I felt drawn to say.

"Do you have email?"

They were disguised in a tan truck

No one could see them,

Veiled in light, such a sweet suck

No one could be them

Eye to eye, dissolve the lie,

no more to deceive

feet to head, and head to feet

Tender touching, currents complete

painted eyes, scents surrounding,

inside urges, so astounding

set your heart and hips apounding

No one forcing for fear of falling

No coercing, love is calling,

no rehearsing, sparks aflying,

igniting hidden fantasies

that tickle turn and gently tease

In the tantruck we are at ease,

No expectations just to please,

languishing lovers let their angels hover,

and guide then thru the dance

sweet fulfillment is but waiting

If we wait for love to warm and swell

to taste and smell

to sound the depths

and reach above

we lose our private hell

and embrace in a pure space

washed in waters washed in the waters of love's well

we lose our private hell

and embrace in a pure space

washed in waters washed in the waters of love's well

magic

I never called her but got this email from her a little later.

I wonder where my poem is, forgotten on the floor-

or wine-stained and treasured next to a red, red rose,

or did it slip through your fingers as you stepped

through the door,

to be found by my handsome, future amor?

It seemed so urgent, I was flattered

but hoped for more than that,

that you saw inside my words

and thirsted for another taste.

But, alas, a tragic figure, Hermit on the search

you were just gathering evidence from your perfect perch.

Possibly I meant those words-

Ah! but probably not,

See you around some time

you say

while the rhymes in my poem

cry in my dreams

and beg me to come take them home

poor poem poor poem all alone....

(true) Peace, Magick