House on Fire
“We all need sanctuary, right? Against the machine, in search of a tandem reality where we can live in truth. But I’m not ready to pull up the drawbridge on the nominally insane. Many are friends! It’s almost like I’m a firefighter, running back into the burning building. “It’s not too late! Hold onto me!” I say. But I say it in the privacy of my mind. In the privacy of my heart. I would never impose. I wasn’t brought up that way. It’s more natural for me to defer. I’d rather invite people to parties. I prefer to convince those who hover in ambiguity, very gently, to lean my way. It doesn’t ask for a whole lot of effort. Just a spark of light. A spark of interest. We can build from there. My uncle was a remarkable man. He lived his life, with an attitude of self deprecation & comedy, unto his dying day. And yet, he was extraordinary. A concert flautist with the Pittsburgh Symphony, who chose to teach music to children, and perform in churches, rather than climb the ladder in classical circles though he was fully qualified to do so. He never gave me any shit about not being able to read music. He never shamed me, only encouraged me to break the rules, and exercise my creative license. I guess he was there, to balance my dad. Another extraordinary talent, who used his spotlight to diminish others. Who knows why these anomalies occur? I work alongside others, with a sense of deep respect for all, thanks to those favorable influences who taught me well, to place myself in and amongst my peers. To honor foibles, and elevate handicaps, and celebrate individuality, above all else. The long nights of winter darkness now, seem to test our resolve. Will we buckle to the unnatural norms of society that pit us one against the next, and demand there be a “winner”? Or will we dive deeper into our own mysterious dimensions - its your call, and your choice. I’ll be here to receive your results, so don’t feel abandoned. Today, I walk haltingly, to the mailbox, down a slick run of hard packed snow and ice. I glance around the hills, to make sure I can see my neighbors lights. No doubt, there are stories to enjoy from those who’ve recently arrived. But mostly I need history. To help me orient myself, to the bumps & to the sages already installed here. My small ski tracks ponder a mere beginning. They yearn for the trackers, who made the trails. That’s how I can discern a path, and appreciate it fully. The markers set, the choices to clamber or glide, to skirt an old tree or ride up to its roots. I’d rather not screw around. Or maybe its just that much of my life has been subject to a kind of improvisation, I’m not so enamored of, now. I sink fully into my ability to ponder and reflect, and deflect, as needed. No one is going to upturn my boat, during this chapter, save God.”