July 6: Across His Back, Two Old Friends, Stupidity

Santiago never gives up . . .

He held the line against his back and watched its slant in the water and the skiff moving steadily to the North-West.

This will kill him, the old man thought. He can't do this forever. But four hours later the fish was still swimming steadily out to sea, towing the skiff, and the old man was still braced solidly with the line across his back.

Neither does the fish, until it has to.

This evening, I hosted an author reading at the library.  Two old friends of mine from grad school.  We have known each other, literally, for over 30 years.  All three of us have had struggles.  Losses.  And we've done what writers do with difficult experiences--written about them, learned from them, transformed them.

Because writing is a way of overcoming.  Of holding the line against the back, waiting for the fish to tire and go belly-up.  I think all three of us have saved ourselves with words in one way or another.  Through things we've written and read and heard.  Song.  Poetry.  Chant.  Prayer.

For a little while tonight, the cogs of the universe slipped a little for me, and 30 years sort of slipped away like a fish diving for deep water.  There are things I've experienced that I would never want to relive.  Yet, it was wonderful to be with these two friends and remember, for a few fleeting moments, what it was like to be stupid with hopes and dreams.

Saint Marty hasn't felt that stupidity for a while.