Septuagenarian Memoirs No. 7 “Music is the doctor of my soul,” eminent healing of a day’s dregs by reversion to a primal heartbeat, immediate submersion in sounds streaming through the blood like a sacred river of strange currents, from a steadfast beating of drums to Mozart, Elvis, Doobie Brothers & Bob Dylan’s always rolling stone; music is edged with eternity’s marriage to the full measure of the moment, releasing the monkey-mind from itself & raising the soul to obvious ecstasy. Without music, angels weep at dawn & hearts suffer attacks of melancholy from irredeemable distraction noises, but music is my radical muse from a mysterious silence where all music is born in particular infinities. Distractions (2) Distractions measure out our lives with unredeemable plastic spoons that break, splitting open tongues with blood drooling from openly catatonic mouths until the next distraction is up and ready to serve. All very surreal, very sophisticated. Homo Distractatus is our name, distracting from distractions our game. When did life itself become a distraction? Why are we addicted to everything but silence & solitude, preferring to vulture the carrion of our cravings? What happened to vision quests and fasting from deprivations of soul? Where are the crones and sages guiding us through rogue waves and the spiritual sloth of the frivolous? How has wisdom lost itself in deviations from the ancient ecstasies of life? When we weary of ever-circling the brazen-bright laser lights, will we just lay down & die? Why the malingering fear of living naked without the numbing shielding? Where are the poets & earthy saints to take our breaths away with their spirited geographies impervious to deadenings? Imagination Imagine there is imagination, forming what does not exist, seeing what exists as strange, a surreal dive into possibilities where old mysteries and new potentials converge in crucibles compounding elixirs into fathomable insights surprising all the more for their bizarre beauty. Imagination as knowing with the soul’s blood, remembering what never was, receiving whatever could be, soaring in divine winds into the heart of wisdom, finding peculiar revelations creatively disguised as ordinary absurdities. Alan Altany is a partially retired, septuagenarian college professor of religious studies and theology. He has been a factory worker, swineherd on a farm, hotel clerk, lawn maintenance worker, high school teacher, small magazine of poetry editor, director of religious education for churches, truck driver, novelist, among other things. In 2022 he published a book of poetry entitled *A Beautiful Absurdity* (https://www. alanaltany.com/).