In A Quieter Moment

Dear Maria,

Today I heard my voice but three times out loud. I mean nothing so very startling by this observation, but given what opening day of school has meant to me over the course of three decades it does give me pause. No intended irony there. Irony happens. But in my mind, my mind, in a nutshell, is not stilled by any measure.

I read today that Shakespeare was often referred to as Gentle Will. What ax should he grind when the world that inhabited his mind was under his pen.

Of course, Sunday I had a four-hour yap fest that spanned Blake to Wordsworth to Orwell to life’s arc to my lame take on the evolving universe and the complexity of human systems. Hahahaha! I am a goofball. Of many magnitudes.

The shifting light today with what seemed an endless stream of storms would—well, Blake would understand. I especially thought the piling thunderclouds about the Northwoods shopping area this evening especially splendid. Mammon outlined against a heavenly sky. A certain slant of light indeed.

So tonight I retreated to B&N, the manmade cavern of lines and arcs, a retreat to words unspoken by the millions close at hand. I, in random leafing through a few books, came upon Whitman saying, “and every man shall be his own priest”.

This morning I stood at my lectern and read to myself for an hour or so. No bully pulpit, but did provide a rather lovely view of the garden. Perhaps, a monk of a certain order, no rules to be obeyed or ignored.

I heard my voice three times today. I did not once hear yours, but in my mind many times.

Let all be quiet and still, and good tonight.

Quietly, simply, srk