Not only to fly, but to bring the world's eyes...skyward.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Crossings

Happy New Year, readers loyal and new! As I begin what will be my eighth year as a serious writer, my tenth as a father, twelfth as a husband, twenty-sixth as a pilot, and my forty-first lap around the sun, I find myself (surprise) airborne, this time coming home from the country of Ben Franklin's frequent dalliance, France. This time, for a change, I take no compensation, nor any passengers, for the trip.


For the first time, it was my dear wife's turn to pit her career against jetlag, conducting a retreat in Paris with two other talented mixed-media artists. We crossed The Atlantic a few days early in the course of my work, but on the 26th, I abandoned her to the City of Light, worked the westbound alone, then swapped bags and headed back across The Pond again, off the clock, to rejoin her.


Along the way, I waxed philosophical (not just about how exactly we 'wax' an adjective) about that particular frame in the movie of my life, so against my better judgment, I allowed myself the momentary fantasy of being a poet, with the following result:


Crossings

  To know the route's unimportance
The destination as only a plan
And plans' slavery to Fate

Having come, and gone, and been
Felt the wind's rush build, the heat of the fall
And treasuring the calm even while missing
The helplessness

The hov'ring sun like a dirge, we head West
Vanishing still too fast at Journey's end

Between a New World and the Old
Dreams pass, some touching, most not
And sweep, all, behind our wings
into Memory



I write for the same reason I listen—and occasionally try to play—music: to come as close as I can, with the tools I have, to fully feeling, then relaying so well that others can also feel, the inexpressible joys and sorrows that mark where our Life transcends existence. In the five years since I finished what may be my one book, I've struggled to find the easiest, fastest, most efficient way to build my audience, with modest results. Since I must reluctantly agree insanity can be defined as doing the same thing the same way and expecting different results, this year I'm going to start doing some things differently.


I hope we both enjoy it…

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