July 21, 2006

• If you don't mind, please read this post slowly, thanks.

  
  

  " Emily: Do any human beings ever realize life while the live it?- every, every minute?

  
  

  Stage Manager: No.

  
  

                                      Pause

  
  

                              The saints and poets, maybe - they do some."

  
  

   

  
  

  I watched Our Town tonight with Ben. Jim slept through it but we stayed awake. Thornton Wilder wrote it.

  
  

  There's a fairly simple message. I could  live my whole life and realize once I got to the end that I never noticed anything about it. Everything was about going from one thing to the next, never stopping to soak in the stars, or the sand on my feat, ir the look in my lovers eyes. There is this idea that I could live 50 years married and never see my wife.

  
  

  "Emily: with mounting urgency. Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years have gone by. I'm dead. You're a grandmother, Mama. I married George Gibbs... but, just for one moment we're all together. Mama, just for one moment you're happy. Let's look at one another."

  
  

  This world is beautiful. On a clear night away from the city, the moon lights up the sky nearly as bright as sunset. When you look into the expanse, you'll see a blue just darker than baby blue around the moon, and as you follow the blue away from the moon, it fades to navy. This existence is beautiful. It holds texture. It holds planets. It begs to be lived in slow motion.

  
  

  I kiss now, not because it is a matter of progression (we were friends, we started dating, we became official, now it is time to follow the pattern, do what others do, do it because it is what people do.), but because the texture on my lover's lips is something to be prized, to be frozen as in a photograph, to be loved, to be drunk slowly.

  
  

  For millennia the Lord has given man seventy years, yet he has lived it as thoughtlessly as if he were pissing groggy-eyed in the morning. Seventy years is all man owns. Let him feel it, every intricate detail as though it were a fine wine to be sipped slowly. Let him feel it, as though it were a kiss on the lips, made lightly and lingering. As though life itself was worth sensing - every, every, minute.

  • 5:22 am
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