A Summer Story

Part 2

from "Democracy" by The Lumineers

"...It's coming from the women and the men
Oh baby, we'll be making love again
We'll be going down so deep
That the river's going to weep
And the mountain's going to shout Amen!
It's coming like the tidal flood
Beneath the lunar sway
Imperial, mysterious
In amorous array
Democracy is coming to the USA

Sail on, sail on
Oh mighty ship of state!
To the shores of need
Past the reefs of greed
Through the squalls of hate
Sail on, sail on, sail on... " Listen to the Lumineers sing the poem by Leonard Cohen here

Whether there was celebration, mourning, or perhaps defiant resistance, to your July 4th, I don’t know that it would be possible to let the day pass without an awareness of the ideals that built the celebratory desire. I want to celebrate those ideals, too, when they’re lived into. Yet, often I mourn how they’re more idea, or outdated, than reality. Much like the line from the wonderful Leonard Cohen poem above: “I'm sentimental, if you know what I mean. Oh, I love the country but I can't stand the scene. And I'm neither left or right, I'm just staying home tonight.” I feel like a walking canvas of colors with all my thoughts and emotions these days. Multi-hued emotions as colorful as a firework-covered sky, and thoughts that fire and burst one on top of the next. So, I’m spending some time each day taking my emotional temperature and trying to hold every thought up to the light for a more discerning vision.

Recently, I had a rare evening to sit with a special man, someone like a father to me. He’s 78 this year, fought and was badly wounded in Vietnam; has seen his country and family through waves that crash and waves that roll. He’s a storyteller and I love a story, so we sat and I listened as he reminisced until he stopped suddenly, reflective and quiet. “You know,” he spoke finally, “I hear people saying that things are worse now than ever.” I waited, silent in his pause. “I don’t think that’s true, though. There’s trouble, it’s true. But it’s not worse. In fact, I think a lot of things are a whole lot better.” We talked about this for a while longer, and when I rose to leave, my eyes were misty as I hugged him goodbye. I felt gifted by his longer arc.

I won’t offer my opinion of things these days, because my opinion shouldn’t matter to you. What should matter to you is your own array of colors and emotional temperature. How are you living into this time and the ideals that swell and sway?

And instead of opinions, I’ll paint you a summer picture: