Vespers

It seems appropriate, given that this is Pearl Harbor Day, and given that the nun is not really a nun, that I should spend some time in the silent drone of evening prayers. And although it may seem contrived, it would seem that the universe has instructed me to meditate on the nature of love. Now long before the nun and I toured some ancient Christian ruins of a church in France (and took in a bonus alpenhorn concert), she was always chanting on about how love just is, and I truly do believe she is right about that, as you can hear the echoes of that chant in nearly any belfry. Love does just seem to creep up on you, tap you on the shoulder, and, bam...before you can turn around you're smiling...and your body recalls just how good it feels to be wrapped...and rapt. So for the better part of two years, I have been smiling big, and that is a very good thing; to understand that despite our efforts to lock our doors against the world, there are cracks where the light gets in. I'm not here today to ramble on about how grand it feels to love the nun. I do that enough...well, maybe not enough, but anyway...

In any event, the last two years have taught me one, new thing. That there is lots of room under the blanket, and when you love someone, there is room for even the things you never thought you'd learn, so it was with eager anticipation that I listened as she recounted a conversation she'd had with her newest friend (a celibate, buddha/jesus flavored, self-healing, financial analyst monk gardener) who had asked her if she's ever been 'in love'. She responded that she had not; ok, actually with a gaping hesitation of no. Needless to say that all ten of my pins were bowled over and reset, but, as you can see from the metaphor, I was still standing tall. Despite the revelation, I was still wrapped, still standing and still talking. And I learned that there is room under the blanket for letting go. Now the nun says I'm forward casting, but it seems to me that any notion of a future is, even her assertions that she doesn't know what will come for us; even the notion of allowing for all the possibilities; that to hold to what may happen is no different than holding on to what you want to happen. Meditate on that some, and you may come to understand even Nostradamus couldn't see the moments.

Anyway, in the world according to the nun, there is apparently a separate wrapping station, kind of the christmas stocking of love just is, where you are not only in love, but IN LOVE. Must be in a separate room, which I am locked out of, probably due to the fact that my next perspective domicile may have no doors at all, and likely because I stopped loving with my brain a long time ago (the nun loves developed brains). The nun thinks I'm sort of edgy, but I think not. I am simply the culmination of how I have chosen to live and grow, and the truth is, that let us share a very grand love affair. You can never regret the grand times, unless you choose to repaint them, and I am no revisionist. It was and is the best of times, and I learned how huge love can be. This a perfect example of why you can smile while you're crying. Because love just is.

Stop blubbering now. The nun still loves me, even if she is afraid of me. It's hard to say whether my arrogance, or her greater desire, brought this strange quark moment to actuality, but clearly, we managed to dab the easel, no matter how lightly, and now, there are new colors there. And,as I'm sure you are aware, paint, be it water color or enamel, perforates the bubble and opaques the passage of time...and to all, a good night.