wystswolf

Live Aid shoulders and a poet's bones.

Belief is a strange power — unmatched, really — especially when someone places it on you.

I’m sitting in the dark of my little studio. Jethro Tull’s Benefit is humming and the rain is splattering outside my open window. The sun has just dipped under the clouds and splashed a cool white through the rain and into the room.

I recently received a gift and the weight of it is resonating with me this evening. I am simply mesmerized with the thoughtfulness and depth of knowledge the giver showed. How can someone know so intimately, the architecture of my heart?

Some people don’t like surprises. They want to know how the book ends. Not this wolf. This creature loves the antici—pation of what may be. The power of imagination to build whole worlds is a drug and sometimes—more.

Pandora’s Reveal

When the box arrives, it is an unassuming affair. My first read is it as repurposed and imperfectly folded as if it was made smaller for this journey. This has its own appeal to someone who loves finding new ways to use old things.

On all sides have been applied Ducks Unlimited brand stickers. On the top, a large shipping label declaring the cost to send this is $13.10. An amazing price considering several strangers just moved this box hand-to-hand from one door to mine.

The highlight is a small, charming cartoon star with a smiley face.

As soon as it arrives, I want to rip it open and finish the anticipation. But, I decide instead to let it lie fallow for a few hours, savoring the possibility. Until I break the seal, it’s Schrödinger’s gift: pure potential. Closed, it could be anything—everything I ever wanted.

Thank You?

When I finally decide it's time to open the mystery, I cut the tape carefully and peel back each flap to find crinkled craft paper tucked inside. An excellent choice. Particularly if you are a child hungry for media upon which to draw.

My imagination is going crazy. What could this be? A book from the lost library of Alexandria? A custom-cut record of the giver's favorite songs? Sketchbooks? Art? OMG, I’m wild with thrill.

I’m giddy with excitement. Gifts are rare, and this one in particular is very special to me.

As I peel back the paper, I take a deep breath and find... two bundles of fabric. One blue, one white.

Two neatly rolled shirts.

Shirts. Is that all? Fabric with which to cover our naked bodies?

I didn’t know what was in the box—it could have been anything and everything. I LAUGH out loud at my ludicrous fantasies of what the box held. How ridiculous am I? As an artist, I was thinking: sketchbook, pens, clever art. I had even imagined a handwritten letter. So when I saw shirts, I laughed and thought, “what a nut—who gets an artist shirts?”

It was punctuated because I was SO extremely excited about the box. It was hand-decorated with an adorable little happy star and covered with all these terrific stickers. Stickers are a particular favorite of mine. When I travel, I like to peel them off walls and signposts and add them to my travel journals. They make wonderful little pieces of art.

Building an Ingrate

When I was a boy, holidays were less than an afterthought, they were completely ignored. Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving—even birthdays were off the table.

This was no loss for me as a child. My parents did a good job of making sure we received gifts and attention at least as regularly as those holidays provided.

Though my parents eschewed holidays, other relatives—usually grandparents—insisted on giving us gifts, particularly for Christmas. My parents’ random gifts through the year would be Tonka trucks, racing cars, spaceships, and dinosaurs. The holiday gifts insisted on by grandparents were—lackluster by comparison.

When they did press the gifts, what came was socks, sweaters, scarves—and shirts. From an adult point of view, they were probably very nice, but as a child—BORING.

I drove and laughed and laughed while proverbially scratching my head. There HAD to be more to it than two rolled shirts. A message? Maybe there was something in the shirts. I've seen fabric printed on the inside; maybe there was something inspirational printed there.

I was 9 years old again and expecting G.I. Joe, but getting a deer sweater.

A Second Reveal

Of course, I am a nice Wolf and nothing but absolute praise and thanks will do for the act of simply being thought of. If it had been a rock, or a clip of hair, or a vial of sand, I could not have been more pleased.

However, it was none of those things. And in fact, I very soon learn there was MORE to the gift than two garments. It is explained:

“The blue one is an Irish pub shirt. Be sure to roll up the sleeves and drink a Guinness in Kilkenny.”

In the near future, Wolf has plans to travel Europe, with Kilkenny on the itinerary. And he's especially fond of beer.

“At Live Aid, Sting wore a shirt like the white one. Every poet (and English major) needs one. Fabric is a dream.”

The giver is easily the most musically intelligent persona I know. So to have a connection made between my humble efforts and Sting on stage at Live Aid... just the concept is HUGE. It inflates me ego into the stratosphere to think someone would paint me in the same broad stroke as Andrew Sumner.

“Do not eat spaghetti or pizza while wearing it. Ever.”

This one elicits a guffaw from me. The garments are J Petermen... VERY shi-shi... and not to be treated with anything less than reverence. And as I LOVE white shirts, I know how easily they are ruined.

“Nothing says I love you like high-quality cotton.”

My heart is moved. Who doesn't want to feel loved and hear that they are? To symbolize it with such a quality and exclusive gift is very movine.

Reading the messages is like one of those montages in film where the protagonist sees all of the best moments of his life in the expanse of a single heartbeat.

Only it’s not my whole life—it is the life of lives in orbit. The stolen glances. A smile from the passenger seat while I drive. Her doing crosswords in the quiet. Laughing jovially after dinners with a big family. When people are in your life for many decades, there are thousands of small moments locked in our subconscious.

In the space of a heartbeat thousand moments suddenly congeal into one new sun in my heart. How can anyone think this deeply about me? An obscure artist living in the middle of nowhere?

The giver is a giant—and has seen me and identified a want I didn’t even know I had. I suddenly feel so special. So incredibly important, that it moves me to tears.

Thank you feels incredibly insufficient in exchange for this thoughtfulness.

My eyes are watering a little thinking about how I didn't receive shirts...
I was dressed the man I was seen as—
the poet, the performer.

The person I like to imagine I might be—
and I was made real with these scenes:
rolled sleeves and beer in Ireland—
or the star on stage at a stadium,
not for praise or accolades,
but to be wrapped in cotton of love
and move hearts and minds for good.

I was so excited at the box itself with the handcrafting—
I had no idea that when I opened it,
what would come out was not fabric and craft
but a vision.

What came out was belief and love.
What came out has undone me a little.
Melted me.

And then it had me floating.

I don’t care that this state won’t last.
That in a few hours I’ll be back on earth
doing the things I need to do.

In the moment, I was transcendent.
And that’s a moment I can always carry with me.
The memory of wonder is a powerful drug.

As the French say, Tu es incroyable.

Love always,
Wolf

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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.

Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!

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