I Survived The Rapture & All I Got Was a T-Shirt
Saturday night is here and I can’t stop thinking about two poems that I once shared with someone The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe and Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley.Â Headphones adorn my head and leave me alone in the island that I have created while Springsteen sings about The Long Walk Home. It is a mysterious and magical mix of hope, love and loss that keep me company.
The clickety clack of the keyboard intermixed with the rhythmic taps of my fingers and the sounds of the dog snoring make for quite the stew of sight and sound. My heart and head continue to battle each other for control and so I sit here sharing the silly and the sublime with you.
The cranky curmudgeon that occupies this body is playing around with thoughts and ideas for posts celebrating the coming blogiversary. Seven years of labor have gone into this blog. Seven years of tumult and turmoil mixed in with a boatload of nonsense. I “celebrate” my blogiversary each year and this year is no different. And like every other year I have been mulling over what blogging has taught me and how to best give back thanks and gratitude for the gifts it has given.
All around me I see posts from new bloggers talking about what it takes to be successful. Rank amateurs and rookies expound upon their much vaunted success and share their hard earned secrets with all who visit. I am sort of snotty and obnoxious towards some of these rookies. Why? Because I am curious to see how many of the big shots manage to last for any length of time. This is a marathon and not a sprint. Those who last are usually those who love what they are doing. I often find those who last to be more interesting. Maybe it is because they don’t strike me as being as wrapped up in some of the superficial things that come with this gig.
Bruce is still singing and I am wondering what it is like to be able to write and sing the way that he does. Wondering what it is like to have the sort of charisma that can set a stadium on fire. It is not something that is solely left to Bruce. Many artists can and have done it. I have been to more than a few shows where the audience has gotten lost in the experience. I love that and I think that it is one of the things that I hope to achieve with my writing. I want the readers to get lost. I want them to see what I see and to wander amongst the words lost in the world that we create.
Notice that I say ‘we.’ That is intentional because what happens here is a partnership. I draw a world and throw in splashes of color but you fill in the gaps and pieces that need help. You help to determine whether the rough edges remain unpolished or whether they receive a touch up.
It is Saturday night and I wander over to check on my children. I slip into their rooms and walk silently to their beds to see that all is well. Sometimes I stop and stare at them and marvel at the little bodies and faces I see. They sleep so very deeply- brows unfurrowed and arms askew. There is such beauty there.
And so I find myself bending over to kiss them goodnight one more time and then I slip back into the darkness and wander off to work on the things that keep me from sleeping with the same reckless abandonment as they do.
Saturday night is almost over and it is clear to me that the world isn’t going to end today, tomorrow or the day after. Ok, I could be wrong but for something like this I am perfectly happy to accept the scientific explanation for the promises that were made and left unfulfilled today. Now it is time for me to return to focusing on the things that pay the bills so I bid you all adieu.