Master Johnson

There's a few like that, very few

Master Johnson

Takes a testament to say the wind found me as a leaf and carried me over continents until I could no longer see the hour or the day. Somewhere between birth and absolution, unsure that my instincts would guide me, I met Master Johnson of whom I have told, before my manuscripts flooded in ink when the river overflowed, left my lifeblood and my papers indecipherable. Somehow it was always spring with Johnson. A few like that, very few, and he showed me how to climb into a chord of different viewpoints like the mixed metaphor he was if you couldn’t hear with your eyes.

Fourteen more miles to show me I didn’t want to count any more. The journey was all we have. Destinations don’t exist. Johnson.

Sounded like a lot of boo dog at first. I knew rocks and lifted canyons in my arrogance and Master Johnson always said great, let’s grab a hot, prison talk for food or military same, that’s where I met him. One of those.

From football bleachers to war zones to Humboldt county, the first Johnson seemed okay but he was not, never to grow beyond adoration and bully though we called ourselves brother. We fished, killed snakes and roasted them over twigs. Light that with your imagination, and for a moment he would be a god who had abandoned his faith in his creations because they refused to climb into the wilderness, but then he stepped in wet concrete and got stuck on the sidewalk, and today he’s a statue you can pay to say what you want.

Another Johnson let words fall straight from his mouth beholden to no creed, words we say that must bind to be an honest man. Let’s get a hot and he had changed over years and now meant a spiritual meal you can find at the top of a tall tree among the eagles.

Then a third Johnson told me to buy tech stock but money is a greased pole. I said no polite and he showed me his portfolio and his bullet pouch, made me promise to keep him a secret or he’d get trendy and I thought that absurd but only laughed with my toes and he still chewed me out when my shoes wiggled.

That’s when words took on new meanings and the true Master Johnson fished my papers from the river and made me swear to let my instincts guide me and I said yes because I had nothing else to lose. My demon years had buried me, and I had nowhere any more, nowhere to hide from what I had become and who I could now be. I cried, brushed the dirt from my neglected truth, flipped my soul face up to the light.

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Thanks for reading Dynamic Creed. Stay blessed. Victor David