He was comfortable but suffering, although he did not admit the suffering at all.
"I am not religious," he said. "But I will say ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys that I should catch this fish, and I promise to make a pilgrimage to the Virgen de Cobre if I catch him. That is a promise."
Comfortable but suffering. Doesn't that describe life a lot of the time? There are always problems or pains or irritations going on in the background of a day. We are all comfortable but suffering.
That may sound a little pessimistic. Perhaps it is. I've never been comfortable with labels like "pessimist" or "optimist" or "realist" or "pragmatist." A lot of people who really know me wouldn't say that I'm a happy person. The same people. however, wouldn't say that I'm a sad person, either. Labels are boxes, and I have a problem with boxes.
Tonight, I hosted an open-air jazz concert on the steps of the library. A quartet, the musicians mostly friends of mind. It was exactly what I needed. Beautiful and moving and complicated jazz for this beautiful and moving and complicated life. This comfortable but suffering life.
If we're lucky, we all get these moments every once in a while. Open air. No walls. Moments where you feel yourself blooming like a flower, and your spirit can take flight for a little bit. Where the suffering takes a back seat, and comfort takes over for a few minutes. An hour or two. A lovely evening or few days.
Tonight was one of those moments for me.
Saint Marty's blessing tonight: a jazz moment of grace.
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