When they hand me a fresh cup of coffee, I'm always compelled to lift it to my nose and, closing my eyes, smell deeply the rich aroma. It smells like earth and plenty, like centuries of culture and agriculture and science and art culminating in this random cup in this random place. "In those days there will be wars and rumors of wars," I've heard it said. I wonder how one pushes back against the clouds, draws the sunlight out of the unwilling sky. In days like these, a clever joke still brings tears of laughter and the chemical relief of joy. In days like these, we can still revel in reunions with friends long gone and in second and third and fourth chances, a never ending supply, for the fallible among us. Let the well never run dry.
In days like these I want to push my face down close to the earth and weed out the intruders in the garden, taking joy in the fullness of the smallness of my influence on the state of affairs in the world. I wonder how one pushes back against the clouds. Yet, even now, the voice of your child or the touch of your lover or the words of your friend can bring a smile or a flood of warmth. Is it lack of these mercies and joys that brings us to the brink, that pushes us to strike out with anger and hate? "This knowledge is too great for me, too lofty for me to attain."
I don't want to know what I cannot understand. I do not want to feel the weight of the burden I cannot bear. I'm not Atlas, so I shrug and go about my silly way. The ancient Greeks believed in gravity and levity, opposing forces. I take up arms for levity and stand my ground, gravity be damned. Some would call that lack of compassion, I suppose, but it feels like compassion to me.
I may be a simple fool, but I try to be good at it.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
