On Keanu and Bucksport, Maine

I promised that my next post would detail my conversation with Keanu—the actor, not his kitten alter ego. A talking kitten is just about the last thing I’d want to encounter in my dream--seeing as how I’m ailurophobic and all… It’s taken me a while to fulfill this promise in part because I’ve been rather busy, but also because my gut told me that there was something else I’d need to write about in relations to my dream-time chat with Constantine. So, I waited until that other part of this post materialized—which didn’t happen until yesterday. First let’s talk about the interview of my dream (literally and metaphorically speaking):

As dream time chats go this one was rather brief, but very memorable.  Many of my most vivid dreams always occur in what seems like the very final instants of my slumber, right before my conscious self rips the veil of sleep from my eyes and forces me into the reality of another day.

I sometimes wonder just how much time has passed in these moments when I have such vivid dreams—is it minutes, hours?  

Perhaps symbolically the conversation takes place in a sun-filled room, where curtains danced and swayed, animated by a cool breeze that gently streamed through open French doors.

Me: Are you happy at this point in your life?

Keanu: The essence of life is to treasure the moments that bring bliss. I am fortunate to have many moments of bliss in my life at this point.

Me: Do you ever worry about losing it all… I mean financially—about suddenly not having the life you have become so accustomed to over these many years?

Keanu (with solemn certitude): No. Never. Material things are good to have, but they do not define a good life—a happy, blissful life. I think at some point on this journey that has become my life, I thankfully realized that important lesson. It’s definitely made a difference in how I’ve handled my fame and fortune, and what and who I value most in my life.

And with that, the conversation ends. The dream ends. I wake up and the Union Street conga band of belching autos ensures that I will not be returning to a slumberous state anything soon.

So, at this point you may be wondering what this dream has to do with Bucksport, ME. No, Keanu is not moving to Bucksport, anymore so than God (aka Morgan Freeman) is settling downin Chicopee, MA. But the essence of this brief conversation is perhaps meant as a message/reminder for the folks over in Bucksport who are starting to feel the financial domino effect of a recent mill closure that resulted in over 500 people losing their jobs. 

I was in Bucksport today. It’s one of my favorite towns in Maine and I try to visit as often as possible.  I love the Bucksport House of Pizza on Main St. Writing would not be sufficient to adequately describe the fresh-baked taste of my favorite selection: grilled chicken with onions, pineapple and cherry toppings.  I’d never had cherry on a pizza until I ate my first slice here.  In reality I’ve only eaten there twice because the pizza is so go I’m afraid of making it a habit. My 2 mile walk along the waterfront today burned about 150 calories.  Even though I didn’t have pizza today it reminded me that I have to limit my pizza house visits if I’m going to make my weightloss goal by July.  But I digress. 

In addition to the good pizza and an awesome second-hand store where I always seem to find just the book I want to add to my library, there is also a mood about Bucksport.  It reminds me of a relic from an ancient era:  the ghostly mausoleum of Fort Knox forever guards the watery gates of an ancient river monster’s lair perhaps... I can almost see the ancient sentinels keeping watch along the ragged banks of the Penobscot River like the sirens of Ancient Greece.   

In many ways today’s visit was also like being in a dream where I conducted brief and informal interviews.  A dream in which I’m walking through a town on the verge of death: businesses on the brink of closing with “for rent” signs in currently occupied storefronts. Quiet streets… The shadowy veil of grey skies reached down like dirt already being scattered on the lid of a glass coffin from which the still living occupants could witness their own entombment. The ghostly remnant of the mill still sits at the north end of Main Street—an elephant graveyard of partially deconstructed buildings.

For a moment I stood gazing in its direction and I swear I could hear the moan of a dying elephant that had been mortally wounded by the poacher’s bullet.

At a couple of my stops today the adults talked about their stores closing soon—the strain of the present situation was evident in their eyes and voices.  In contrast their children played nearby. Blissful. Oblivious to it all.  Just happy to have a day to spend at home with mom and dad.  In times like this it’s always so important to remember that the most essential things in life are not things, but the people (kids, spouses, parents) who make your life blissful. It's hard for adults to remember this sometimes because even as their kids remind them of what life is like without the grown-up worries of paying bills, it's hard to know that you'll have to explain to them why they can't come and play at the store anymore once the new owners take possession. It's hard.  

But finding these moments of bliss and reasons for bliss amidst the chaos of uncertainty can make the difference between staying buried in the dark clouds of short-term despair, and staying strong enough to weather the temporary storm. No doubt the grey clouds will pass and times will be prosperous again for the townsfolk:  One can only hope that the much-needed revitalization comes soon.