Consumed In Light

You should never feel sorry for me, not that I think you do– but it occurred to me when I was walking back tonight that I should probably tell you that.  Just since– well, given what you’ve seen me go through. I wanted to say that to you.

I think about you, y’know– often throughout the day, I think of you. I appreciate your taking this journey with me and mostly– well, no, not “mostly” but one of the things I appreciate most about what you do for me is that you have helped this writer to actually write. In addition to the scripts and poems, I’m putting down between 500 and 1500 words on most days in these conversations I have with you and for that I’m grateful. I’m grateful for a lot this days.

Yeah, you shouldn’t pity me. Two reasons. One is, in my intermittent periods of self-pity, I totally have that base covered. The other is, are you crazy? Look at the life I’ve had! Yeah, I, to this point have sacrificed some security and other things that most people seem to compulsively chase as markers of success– doing what one is “supposed” to do in this life. But to carpe diem (and the noctem for that matter) like I have– given the other possibilities, I’ve had a pretty great life. I never took the safe route. And I can’t tell how pleased I am with that choice.

Tonight I walk along immersed in the sublime, consumed in the Light, exhausted from three hours’ sleep in the past two days and doing and eating and laughing and tasting with my eyes and feeling all there is to feel in this city that I love so much but so, so happy. I’m forcing myself to go to sleep so I can be rested for what promises to be a wonderful day tomorrow. I need to sit on the banks of The Mighty Mississippi in the morning to write some lyrics. My job as a writer is more than a job it’s my spiritual calling and my religious practice is inextricably connected to my Art.

The joy flows through the canyon the grief carved and there has been a fair amount of that in my life. Still, never pity me. Every thought’s a prayer and if you are going to hold me in your thoughts for even a moment– behold my joy. Behold my joy.

When I dance, I am worshiping That Which Created Me– and my parents (together with all my ancestors) dance there with me too.

Yeah, never feel sorry for me for the struggles I’ve had; they are the ticket of admission to an uncommon life, just a country boy from rural Alabama who’s seen so much of this world and sucked the marrow from the spirit-bleached white bone of life. And I’m not near done.

See y’all tomorrow.