i can’t believe how quiet it is tonight. it’s almost startlingly quiet. except for the persistent ringing in my ears that began at a Wilco concert in Seattle in 1997 and never quite went away. someone at a meditation retreat told me that i am actually hearing the voices of angels. what a strange but nice thought, i thought. i did not know that american tibetan buddhists believed in angels.

the other dawn, i was startled out of my sleep by a voice, this subdued authoritarian male voice calling the name “Bob.” As if he were trying to waken me, which he succeeded in doing. But i thought i was dreaming. But then he repeated, “Bob,” more insistently and impatiently. I stood up from the bed and turned on the lights. i knew he was there but i could not see him. i was mildly freaked.

“Go away,” I cried. “Please. There’s no “Bob” in here. You’ve wandered into the wrong bedroom. Just go. Please.” No answer. “I’m not Bob.” But I think he was gone by then.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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