March 2

Things come and go. Of that all men (and women) (and womyn) (and myn) can be sure. Today is March 2, the day upon we which we might celebrate the births of such notables as Dr. Seuss, Lou Reed, Eddie Money (!), Desi Arnaz, John Bon Jovi, Tom Wolfe, & Mikhail "Don't Stare At My Pate" Gorbachev. Likewise, if we're in a mode of remembrance, we might find ourselves saluting those who have passed on this day in history: D.H. Lawrence, Philip K. Dick, Dusty Springfield, & Howard "Hey Let's Open This Sarcophagus" Carter.

Time passes - and pisses - on us all. Daffodils and atomic clouds bloom in perfect symmetry. Lettuce and love affairs wilt. The sidewalk ends, the seafloor spreads. People come and people go. The Upanishads tell us that we're all God, putting on a big ol' play for God's own amusement. The not-knowing you're God is all part of it, they say. Muhammad, when asked why anything at all exists, said, "The Divine was a hidden treasure, and longed to find itself." When Jonathan was asked on Sunday, March 2, 2008 why his front yard is filled with birds, he replied, "Because of all the bird feeders the previous tenants put up out there."

Eleanor's asleep. Janelle's doing yoga. Nag Champa is chomping at the air. I'm neglecting the compost bin. In fact, I've never been so uninspired about taking out the compost. Stella's asleep on her side, like a hieroglyphic in Howard Carter's mind. Soon, I'll get around to getting my shoes on and braving the morning air. And the birds will scatter. The day will progress, discovering itself.