Sunday, September 07, 2008
A Huge Box Of Angels
Recently, a douchebag I don't know very well (as opposed to myself and others that I do) told me that it was a lovely life, that every day was one delight after another. I changed the subject as fast as I could as I do not feel that way, not one ounce, and that while I believe life contains some unspeakably beautiful moments and many wonderful hours, much of it seemed a bitter grip and slog, that the heart becomes hardened and sad and that as much as we aspire toward desirelessness or love or following our bliss (yes, I heard this phrase used in conversation in an earnest fashion), we find ourselves bloodied and battered, sad for reasons we can never understand. The people I tend to like best are stoics, ones who come up against this pain and make it funny and real, not the ones in complete denial nor the ones in utter and suffocating martyrdom.
Che Guevara once said that he felt a deep melancholy upon coming to a border, a last glimpse at a lost world, and an excitement on the verge of a new one. Much of life has this quality as we are always losing things even when we tell ourselves otherwise. And even in our mourning, we seek the beauty that will keep us alive and make us whole. Once I got a Christmas package, a huge box of angels, all of them looking as if they had Downs Syndrome. This both made me glad and sad. I know angels can be evil and good, but never thought of them as touched. And somehow this touched me as I unwrapped their dim faces in the glittery paper, holding them up to the light and still finding more buried with their comrades.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Relationships in general make people a bit nervous. It's about trust. Do I trust you enough to go there?" Neil LaBute
Drinking HBO suggestion: Entourage returns!
Benedictions and Maledictions