Dear Reader: It's been one lost pound, one poetry book read, one haircut, numerous new poetry drafts & rewrite, two yoga sessions, one massive 800-year-old Cathedral burned down and one week passed since my last confession. Please, to the confessional we go.
Reader, yesterday, I watched like so many around the world as raging fire destroyed the bulk of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. I've never been there. I have two daughters who were fortunate enough to experience it. The Cathedral has been perhaps the world's most famous. Besides the center of Paris, it is a significant landmark for Catholicism and contained many artistic treasures. Fortunately, many of those pieces of art, as well as church icons, were removed and saved. But Notre Dame was a cultural icon as well. It has been featured in untold pieces of literature and appeared in countless movies. Additionally, it was an architectural expression of the gothic style and a tourist magnet.
But those are all nuts and bolts talk. I found myself wondering why was I genuinely not only sad but deeply emotional at seeing the flames of a structure I had never been to? The church had been there for such a long time, I think my feeling is rooted in part to humanity that it represents, on one hand, and man's acknowledgment of a God on the other. How many people toiled over how many years building this structure? On one hand, a structure grand in size to reach and pay homage to a higher power and on the other - a temple, a holy building that people over centuries have come to worship in. Human lives at work, at worship, a tribute to man's resourcefulness by the had of God.
I may not be expressing myself well, but I think my emotions are rooted in the alchemy of man and God. That is what I see when I see Notre Dame. That is why I feel a sense of loss.
But reader, I have other things I must confess. As hard as it may be to accept, I have never watched Game of Thrones.
I confess to reading Tasty Other by Katie Manning. Poems of pregnancy, and birth, along with swollen ankles, lactation, weird dreams, and urges. You might think it would be a book that maybe guys might not quite get the full benefit of. Maybe being a father of four (albeit grown) kids, who has been in the delivery room for each, or that is it well-written poetry, or more likely both, but I liked it, a lot.
I confess that I am reading several other books, yes at the same time.
It's National Poetry Month and I confess I did not write one poem this past week. (Insert bad poet award here) I did revise and work on several drafts. (insert special dispensation from the higher poet here).
I did two yoga sessions this past week. I can do better.
I lost a pound. If you've seen it, I don't want to know.
That's all I've got this week.
Till next time--
Be joyful & be safe.
