To say the days are full here is the grossest of misstatements. Each day is a month, each hour a week, each moment a lifetime.
Yesterday in the City of Stones and Storms, of Closes and Wynds, we had a go of it, as is our want here.
We started with a day trip out to Roslyn Chapel, what some call the Green Church, and the masses call the old building in Da Vinci code where they found the thing.
I had gotten to bed quite later. A little close to 5 am. So I was feeling just keen.
And yet that place is so fill of mystic charges, I felt energized. Alive. Delirious. Lisa and I had gone there last year, so I thought I'd have a similar experience.
The more fool I. No two experiences are ever the same in this life. It's lesson I learn over and over, in unique ways every time.
Found this stone carving of Death and Humanity, and it was a trip. Saw a carving that translated to "Wine is strong, the King is stronger, women stronger still, but truth conquers all".
Fact.
Of course, what is true and what is false in this world is never clear and ever changing.
So there's that.
After pondering death and life and truth and dares, we head back to Auld Reeky. Lisa and I go to see "Kafka's Metamorphosis: The Play with Puppets!". It is fucking genius. Smart, strange, one of a kind. Singing, puppets as promised, tragedy, and truth. One of my favorite shows so far this year. Just love it.
Then it's time for our performance of Banned the Musical. I am going on maybe four hours of sleep. I grab a huge mocha before the show, and reach down deep and pull out of my soul a performance. I think it's good. Could be awful. I do know when I stormed out of the one big scene I have, a may have almost broken a very large door with how forcefully I opened it. Knocked over some chairs. Felt good.
Then I meet my old pal Lance, and we hash and rehash our lives for an hour or so, then he's off and I'm off and I head to meet Lisa at The Captain's Gate, a tiny bar that has locals playing live music. Folk stuff mostly. When I get there, a guy on guitar is playing a Scottish folk tune. It's great. Then he launches into Sweet Home Alabama. It's surreal and sublime and I love it. Then this man who looks like the last surviving member of the original cast of Brigadoon gets up and goes off. I love him so much. He's like the streets of Edinburgh and the fields of the Highlands and a little brilliant and a little insane.
In this photo, he's on the bench, to the right of the guy in black with the guitar.
The Man in Black looks like he's Johnny Cash, mostly wearing black, gets up. I am thinking "well, good luck, my friend".
And then he starts to play.
And it is shocking.
Dimensional doors open, and we all step through them to the rhythm of his playing. It's magic. No other word will do. It's just pure, impossible, real magic.
Some nights are just like that.
Then, after spending a few millenia in this other realm of musical madness, we are transported back to the little bar. We scream and clap and look about, not sure what just happened but certain that whatever it was, we are forever changed.
Then Lisa and I head to meet most of the cast to watch this staged reading of a new musical based on Drop Dead Gorgeous. What we heard was great. I can't wait to see what they do with it.
And I hope I get to hear a song by the killer sometime.
Then it's home, broken glass, a cut foot, lots of laughter, I finally hit the bed, and sleep is instantaneous.
Onwards.
Here he is, folks. The Johnny Cash of Edinburgh, Spain. He starts slow, and you can hear me singing along, off key and out of my mind. But is does capture a tiny sliver of what is was like to sit there, in glory and wonder.
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