This is always a busy time of year. School “year-end’ activities, spring cleaning, yard work, allergies, waiting for Cannes to let us know that they loved our movie, picking up returning college students, sending off kids for summer adventures, finishing another documentary, continue writing on this most amazing screenplay, researching another very important and timely writing project, wash the windows, clean the garage, ride my bike to work every day, pay attention to a 12-year old, ignore young adults who act like 12 year olds. Breathe. More of this life stuff. Pay attention to these moments that make up this life stuff.
“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” — Norman Cousins
Remember those long Indian summer evenings when the sun was setting and all the neighborhood kids were lying on their backs looking at the darkening sky, waiting, waiting, waiting for it to be dark enough for hide and seek?
The moment when everything seemed possible the happiness of being alive bubbled up and out into giggles. Hugging our legs we could smell the grass stains between the knee lines. We could taste the fresh green grapes squirting juice between our teeth. The breeze had died to a whimper. Dogs distantly bark and mothers call errant children in for the night.
One evening, as the first star slowly appeared, I had my first existential inquiry. In comparison to that star, I am as small as this ant on this blade of grass. How is that possible? How is any of this possible? Someone make sense out of how we came to be. Ollie, ollie, oxen free. I’m it. It’s too dark to see. If I stay close to the light pole I will always be safe, but that isn’t really playing the game, is it.
Star bright, star light, wish I may, wish I might, not ever had thought about your light in this the darkest of dark nights. Chase away the thought and play the game.