There was space for me in Victoria, a space in which I could grow and think properly. I went to Beacon Hill Park, the quite center of a quiet town. Much like Christ in the desert, much like Buddha under one of his trees or Bill Callahan watching his too-many-birds, I gathered thoughts and impressions during those three years. I learned a lot; I shut my mouth for a long time.

I sat still for three whole years. The peacocks were my only company. I inhabited the park’s ragged baseball diamond benches. I sat under no tree. Even the birds, my sole companions and friends left around dusk. And still I was quiet and quite content. The sun fractured; the sun set.

And in the thick of it all, there was music.


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