What would make a grown man– standing at the top of a ladder and wearing a tool belt– suddenly burst out into a crying jag? Just this line, from this new album:
“for all the ways this world is shit,
there is so much beauty in all of it…”
It was one of those moments that just stopped* and where everything around locked into place:
the body of my son, and the body of my daughter
the dirty alley out the window, and the breathtaking mahogany under my left thumb
Soweto, and Playa Guiones
the three dogs outside who will live and die in their reeky 20X20 pen, and the sun setting over the hill
the crushing pain that me and my friends experience, and the comfort which God gives
all the ways in which the world is broken, and the fact that I can’t shake the sense that it could be better
all the kids who have to go to Children’s Hospital, and the compassionate care which they receive
the fact that Tom Fox is dead, and the fact that he went to Iraq in the first place.
And I didn’t feel any better — I’m still mad and confused and unsettled writing about it a week later– but I did feel that I’m not alone.
* the job I was working on will not be charged for my five minutes of sobbing/lament/recovery.