August 3: "Height," Acrophobia, Lily

Billy Collins doesn't suffer from vertigo . . . 

Height

by: Billy Collins

Viewed from the roof of a tall building,

people on the street

are said to take on the appearance of ants,

but I have been up here for so long

gazing down over the parapet,

that the ants below have begun to resemble people.

Look at that one lingering

near a breadcrumb on the curb,

does he not share the appearance of my brother-in-law?

And the beautiful young ant

in the light summer dress

with the smooth, ovoid hear,

the one heading up the lamppost--

could she not double for my favorite cousin

with her glad eyes and her pulled-back hair?

Surely, one with the face

of my mother and another with the posture

of my father will soon go hobbling by.

I'm not a fan of high places.  I learned this fact about myself in the absolute worst place for a person who suffers acrophobia--at the top of the Empire State Building.  Before that day, I'd never had a panic attack in my life.  But there I was, 1,250 feet above Manhattan, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest like an alien parasite.

Nowadays, I avoid situations that put me in high places--buildings, summits, roofs, trees, porches, bridges.  Every Saturday, I play the pipe organ in the choir loft of a Catholic church.  That means I'm about 20 or 30 feet above the sanctuary.  How do I manage to do this?  I'll share my secret:  I don't look down unless absolutely necessary.

I played tonight.  Avoided the railing.  Glanced down only once or twice.  The Mass went well.  There were more people in the pews than I expected.  It was warm again today, but not quite as humid.  So, it didn't feel like I was being slowly broiled as I played.  And, outside the church, the flower garden was open for business.

I often think those wide-angle, Cinemascope views of landscapes are humbling.  Nothing can make you feel more insignificant.  However, sticking my face into those blossoms as I left church this evening was humbling, too.  A universe of beauty in the mouth and breath of a lily.

Saint Marty was grounded and flying at the same time.

June 14: Man-of-War Bird, Outdoor Concert, Rabbit in the Garden

Santiago admires a man-of-war . . . 

Just then he saw a man-of-war bird with his long black wings circling in the sky ahead of him. He made a quick drop, slanting down on his back-swept wings, and then circled again.

"He's got something," the old man said aloud. "He's not just looking."

I have friends who can identify birds.  By their coloring.  Song.  Of course, Santiago knows the man-of-war because he's spent most of his life on the sea, chasing fish and birds.  I admire feathered beauty.  I enjoy hearing birdsong in the morning and at night.

This evening at the library, I hosted an outdoor concert by a dear friend named Kerry.  She sings and writes folk songs, and she is a source of light in the universe.  For an hour, with the wind rattling the flagpole and a rabbit listening from the flower garden, Kerry played her guitar, took requests, and filled the air with music.

And the rain held off.  The wind eventually died down.  I even saw a bird or two.  Seagulls.  Screeching.  Fighting over some piece of food.  And even that was beautiful  Because, really, beauty is everywhere, and you can choose to see it or ignore it.  

Tonight, like that rabbit in the garden, Saint Marty chose beauty.