Oh Mississippi

Life is the river.

Life is the blues.

Life is the song.

Life is the soul.

Walking around the airport this summer I noticed I had about ten hours to spare on a layover in Memphis, Tennesse. So I ventured to ride A) Expensive Taxi B) Hitch Hike with a Local C) Hotel Shuttle to Downtown to experience the popular Beale Street. I called my friend Mrs. Lemay and she told all the things one should try to see. Do you ever feel like somethings just pull you towards it's grip as you just have to know whats on the other side? I felt that way that day. Luckily after failed attempts to find the right words in conversations with kind folk to hitch a ride I spotted the beautiful city bus with it's marvelous lights displaying "Downtown".

The taxi man before was relentless for $30 one way to Downtown. I declined and soon after found my one hour bus cruise to Downtown for about $2.50 cents. To top things off I didn't have change and I needed this bus. The bus driver looks at me like a young wandering traveler and reaches in his pocket. He pulls out the change I needed and I thanked him. I had no idea where exactly I was going, but I was excited. I spoke to a woman traveling on her own for a job transfer in Memphis, an elderly woman who said she couldn't possibly leave this place as she had tried before. As I started to feel uncertain I'd ever get there or know when to get off I neared by the driver. All the folk on the bus had gone and I was alone on this never ending bus trek. I did appreciate the length as the city was beautiful, different, and endearing as people called out greetings to the well-regarded man driving the bus. I laughed along with him with smiles and felt part of such a warm-place that I had no idea existed until I spent time there. You know the funny thing really is I was very much afraid that the bus driver would forget my stop or forget I was even in the big machine on his daily rounds.

He looked back at me pulling near the sidewalk on a very empty street where i'm sure it was not a proper stop and said "This is the closest I can get you to Beale Street" now listen he said "You need to get back to the bus depot around 5PM to catch the same bus back to the Airport"... I thanked him and I told myself somewhere inside my conscious soul that I would never forget him. I loved the way he looked at his city, his people, and his life as he held the steering wheel waving along all who passed him on the sidewalk.

It was about 11am as I walked the sleeping giant of life street named "Beale St." With me I carried my luggage bag on two-wheels that couldn't keep up with my stammering pace. I visited the Gibson Factory thank the good lord to allow me some "soul time" with some pretty wonderful instruments available to play, admire, and enjoy. The chords on a particular acoustic so sweet I had to pull out my camera to film it's tone and me the lucky participant to play her.

I knew I had to see live music, but it was way to early for the parties to ensue as I would leave before they even began. I heard a man playing blues guitar in a sort of courtyard alley of a club. I sat down, I yelled hello, we exchanged names. I followed with a drink of water a restaurant where a younger man was playing an amazing catalog of blues guitarist. I was kinda shocked and believe it or not I was moved by his age knowing so many historic players and their tunes. I started to think about how long he must have been playing for, how touring was going, or how he viewed his life.

I always reflected music to be a sound that is so beautiful that though it may be unheard of may also very well be caught by the wind itself and discovered by another. Thus the music should and shall never stop.

Times was running thin. My shirt was soaked in humidity, but I didn't care much that I probably looked like an exhausted child with a luggage tailing down the many streets. My heart was on a mission and I just couldn't stop now. I reached the Peabody Hotel like my friend urged me too. Too fancy for my liking or look I hurried to the nearest elevator to the vert last floor. Apparently I couldn't find the roof top and so I spoke with the house keeper asking her where it was. She instructed me well and asked, "What room are you staying in?" I don't remember what I murmured to her, but I got away quickly.

I reached the roof-top of this grand standing hotel and peaked over it's edges. An enormous view that my eyes couldn't fix itself on and beyond what I was searching for I saw her... the Mississippi River. I was raised in the concrete, trashy, city stricken Los Angeles lifestyle as a kid. I had only read about this great river and the people who lived by it. My childhood, the photos of my mind, and books came to life. Is this planet larger than what books, dreams, or life can portray?

Everywhere I go I can imagine my life as a local there and how that would be? It's almost impossible to say you know, see, and experience it all in the manner like my Memphis buss driver whose been there his whole life. There is history rooted deeply within the soul, the city, and the heart of humanity. I guess what I'm saying is that though we may never be able to be at all places and in all things, our influential handshakes share maybe just a glimpse of a life we may admire.

I had about two hours left and visited a ghostly ironic experience stumbling up the motel where Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. It had always been on my mind through the studies in school and movies watched, but to be in front of the depicted history location was very erie. I felt fortunate, but also accomplished on this journey being that I could have stayed at the airport or have relived hidden childhood dreams with new stories to add to my life's library.

I got a quick philly cheese steak in the middle of all this and would never forget the honest teller's opinion of their food as I asked "Is this really the best philly cheese steak around?" and he said, "Well, We're one of the best. Out of five, I'd say we're number three, but we still have a great food". So I sat down and ate there.

I hurried back the empty streets to the bus depot passing through a park with an Elvis Statue. I rode the trolley down the street to give me a little more patience not disown my luggage bag. I wasn't very sure of what bus I needed to catch and that I wouldn't miss it. Possibly four to five local people watched out for me with guidance and finally the bus came. As always it was decently filled until time passed and I was alone once again on this bus. I put my travel friendly bag on the next seat to me and finally felt happy about keeping her with me as she served a great pillow. The sun coming down I fell asleep on this bus as I awoke almost five minutes before reaching the airport.

I sat up. Wiped the wrinkles of my face. Took a deep breathe and wondered Lord "What a crazy day". I thought about how lonely one can be when traveling, but that across every turn or step there is someone or something waiting for you. I know we speak of a troublesome world often or of a hardened life we've been been left with.

But all I can do now is think of that river.

The river of love.

The river of hope.

The river of life.

I think we're all walking by it in someway or somehow.

Maybe people are grace. Maybe music is like heaven gates. Maybe God resembles some of the good people we meet.

I think we are a collective effort of his glory. If you don't believe that, I'm sure from a larger perspective we make an amazing portrait of rich history, music, and love.

You can't have it all, but you can surely enjoy it with what you do have when you can.

-The Wanderer

p.s. Listen to Lissie "Oh Mississippi" that inspired this blog, memory, and feeling.