Over the weeks I have posted selections from my “book” of musings and reflections about the fire on Mt.Lemmon 5 years ago. I am 5 years older and I am editing as I go along. If you rifle through the blogs you will come across the first entry. I have now decided to enter the blogs on Mt. Lemmon in the order they were written. I’ve decided to do this to provide a continuity and to allow you and I to see how my musings have evolved.
22 June 2003, Arizona time 12.42 a.m. It begins.
What is fire?
I do not know.
What’s fire?
I don’t know.
No matter how I ask it, it is painful. I look out at Mt. lemmon and it is aflame, mostly smoke, but now and then it flares up and flames can be seen. I don’t see Mt. Lemmon itself. I see the consequences as they pass over Putsch Ridge which runs parallel to Oracle Road.
I hjave no idea what fire is. Like my new cellphone with instructions written in early Mayan, I don’t get it. The Verizon girl who sold me my gizmo had an appliance in one ear and two cells about her waist. The Borg — Resistance is futile. The young are adept at using this junk. It will always be junk and not the differential between ages. There is nothing new about new; in fact, what is new is very old.
What in the world is fire?
I don’t get it.
Christopher Walken is the man. I’ve seen it only twice and it will stay with me to the end; in fact, as I lay dying, I would enjoy seeing the video in mind — it holds much grace. I associate to Eddie Robinson on his deathbed in Soylent Green as he views for the last time the natural treasures of the world.
Here, in brown suit, with that mask for a face, his great put on, he dances throughout a hotel, making beautifully graceful turns to the left and right, his body pauses deft and regal; he actually dives into space in several places like a swan. He is the man. Christopher is a very rich man because his body says it all about his interior self — classy, svelte, animated, cool and cosmopolitan; but above all, the joy and pleasure in his movements. (if you know the title of this video, please cue me in.)
Again, what is fire? At moments he is fire, for me. I just don’t know, but I do take much pleasure in observing it in him. Now you know. It isn’t only a great video. It is an indelible moment in time, Walken’s great contribution to dance — he elevates himself. What a way to swoon out of life — watching this dance. It says so much about Walken — and me.
There is much to be said about the director and photographer as well as the choreographer — it is all of a piece, like foolishly trying to separate a frame from an old master’s work. I would only ask Walken to try again, to add if he felt like it, to his past efforts, to add considerably more to his dance, to extend himself, but how many Hamlets must one write. I cherish what I see. He was impressive in a Charlie Rose show, revealing warmth and the humility of a craftsman. Does anyone else realize what a treasure he is? (See him in Pennies From Heaven as he dances on a bar top.) And that is one aspect of not knowing about fire.
I whirl. I whirl. Dervishly entranced, I spin. It is all in the spinning, rather than the meditative trance that accrues — was Krishnamurti a “freak”?
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