A Little From The Abstract: 2/5/21

There is too much going on at once right now. I can see that I am not alone on this one.
In the last year, we have seen more losses than ever before.
I hear people talking about our “new normal,” but is this it?

Loss is very real and yet, loss is so incredibly unnatural. To lose someone you love; to have someone disappear in the physical sense and to only have a memory; to not be able to reach out when you want to or to be able to pick up the phone, to miss someone, to hurt in their absence, to worry who’s next or to be desensitized to the news of more people passing . . .
Is this the new normal?

There is so much happening right now. I’m not alone on this one and neither are you. 
I would like to offer this as a message of condolences. I want to offer this as a message of hope. I want to change the channel. I want to switch the station or change the record but unfortunately, although I don’t like our doses of reality, no amount of pretending is going to change what’s actually happening.

I have a few questions though.
What would happen if we decided to work together?
What would happen if we decided to put our differences to the side?
What would happen if we buried the hatchet?
And don’t worry, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time to argue about who was right and who was wrong later. Besides, misery is always 100% refundable. 

Is this too much to ask?
Maybe it is . . .

Sometimes the tensions get too thick. Life takes on an inescapable shape. I was thinking about the fact that most people want to run away more as an adult than they ever did when they were kids. I was also thinking about the movie that first inspired me to become a writer.
I was thinking about S.E. Hinton and The Outsiders

I’ve never been to the old church on top of Jay Mountain. At least, not literally. I’ve been there in my mind though. I’ve been there as a character in fiction, which is fine for now. And if you don’t know about this place then I guess you can’t know. If you don’t know then you can’t know what it means to “stay gold,” per se or to have the need to escape the unfortunate norms, the arguments, or to get away from the fights, both worthwhile and otherwise and to find a sense of peace.

Like the way we dig sunsets (remember?).
Either way, from the Southside or the North, now that’s gold!
The colors of the sky and the heavens. This is a version of gold, as in the quote from Robert Frost that says “Nature’s first green is gold; her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower, but only so an hour.”

I have this kid in me. He’s a previous “Greaser” too or so to speak. More accurately and more than anything else, I have always been a dreamer. I was never anything else.
I just never dared to tell anyone before.

I lived and went through the days in the park with the boys. I saw the world the way I did. In fact, I saw the early leaf and watched it crumble. I saw fate take its turn, only to see life be reborn and become born again when the new seasons came around. I believe this is why they call it “Spring”.

There are seasons of life in which we are born, we grow, and eventually, we return to dust.
And that’s life.
That’s the cycle.
Like it or not, this is true.

I watched the gold. I saw how Eden sank to grief. I saw the golden hue in the horizon and with all my heart, I testify here in front of the world that you, me, and us; we’re all we’ve got now.
We are all we have left. Believe me.
I saw how dawn went down today so whether anything gold can stay, I’m not too sure. Maybe only a few people know the answer to this.
(Or, maybe I can just change my name to Dallas Winston and see how it feels to watch a sunset for the first time.)
I never stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house. This only happened in fiction. Moreover, this is one of the reasons why I’ve always wanted to become a writer (maybe someday).

I don’t know much about a lot of things but I do know the rules:
No jazz before the rumble.
Stay gold.
And if we ever make it to the old church on top of Jay Mountain, there’s a pump in there so we don’t have to worry about water.
Maybe we can chase a few rabbits. Or better yet, maybe we can take in the sunset and see the kind of things that beauty is made of.

This is to you, my friends.
We’ve stood together for years now. Always have. Always will.
So just remember something: you are never alone.
There are no friends like old friends. And just to be clear, I am really thankful for this.

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