The solstice passed, almost without my notice until the last bit of light lingering about nearly escaped beyond the horizon. Meaning yesterday. And meaning literally, the longest stretch of daylight since this hemisphere’s bout last year- and I hadn’t realized the date until it had nearly gotten itself to night. It was quite a scene, the final march of the day’s dying dirge. All color and wonder in vivid exhaustion.

Metaphorically, I suppose, that’s how it goes. Not often analyzing what is as it comes to be, only reflective about afterward. And by that point, memory has begun its malicious meddling already. Perhaps that’s why all the overblown transcendental types talk of being ‘in the moment’. Not that I am out to grant them credit. I am sure by the end of this ramble I can find a better way to say the same thing. Always do. Except those times that I don’t.

Reflection is a funny business. The light of our minds bouncing back upon us. The pondering of time gone while more of its sand slips through the thin part of the glass and inevitably joins the rest. And the people, or the persons, as what perceptible bit of the visible spectrum bounds off our earthen vessels for the other each to see. The eyes, of course, that’s where the real time travel occurs. Eons consolidated in an instant as glancing optics gander upon each other. Vast stretches of eternity shrunk until the day of this newly born summer meets with the introduction of the opposing solstice years before, in some other part of the world, Oh, my, for all that we grow, the essence in the eyes holds steadfast. At least so I see in those beings that I know hold meaning.

Forgive me, if you will. I haven’t been doing much thinking, these last few days. Just doing, being, etc. Something that used to be more prevalent in this little existence of mine. And though seemingly sparse, and it may only be seemingly so, but the regular and active engagement of life seemed to better serve the contemplative writer I keep trying to find here. Or might just be that I used to be a good deal younger. Though even my cynicism might have to admit that I am plenty young still. Or at least far from being old, still. If all goes according to plan, I’ll never grow old, no matter how many years I hope to go on for.

But there has been a growing toxicity underneath these last few rounds. For while I never seem to ever cease much in the Department of Contemplation, the cycle seems harder to break beyond the underlying grim peripheral felt. And while much of that has to do with the obvious and, as far as I can tell, unnecessary degradation of our civilizations and societies- it isn’t the entirety of the story. Far more attuned to my person, I had been feeling something akin to hopelessness. And an almost regret, for what has been lost or squandered. And in lieu of a formal and definitive answer to the great many questions of existence, I have been neglecting the appreciation for the smaller wonders. Which, of course, are always the kind that we actually have and hold.

Yesterday, in many ways, worked to contradict the vicious pessimism. For a decade now, the annual and perhaps commercially contrived celebration of holding a paternal position in life has been something that has directed towards my person. And as each of these days of fatherhood have come and gone, there has been more merit and might to each one. And instead of absorbing the outward projected reverence aimed inward, I have chosen instead to share the gratitude with the individual that allows the title of Dad to even be one of my monikers to begin with. So, I dragged the kiddo unbegrudgingly to a music festival upon the banks of a river that I have to claim as my original home. And though long and trying, the fruits were borne beyond what even my imagination could withhold. There are many rewards to this parenting gig, even with the great many tests and trials also associated. So to witness my only daughter have a positive defining moment within her own story unfold before my very being- well, that was among the great reminders of why we bother living this life business to begin with.

But hey, that’s the power of live music, ain’t it?

And beyond that, to see again after a great many years, someone else- well, that just reminds me even further of this glorious quest I sometimes forget myself to be on. A woman, all elegant and vibrant, in midst of living her life that I’d always known she’d be destined for. And so, for a brief moment between the hello and goodbye, I recalled the spirit of our meeting and how expectation played no part, but rather, how the openness to experience allowed us two passing ships to share a benevolent few moments, which her eyes reminded me I will likely never forget, whether paths cross again or not.

But it is late, and words are not pouring from me. After all, to quote a song-

‘Some nights I tell the sky our story, and I don’t have to say a word. Cause words are useless in the cosmos, words are stupid and absurd’.

And though words still have weight, or are the very least one of my favorite playthings upon this simple space rock, zooming out enough can easily reveal their futility. However, the inquiry which I use these collected letters to ask- that is a very cosmic quest.

So onward, this modern knight errant goes. And somewhere between Copenhagen and Croton, and all that lay beyond- I chase the ever failed attempt to sort sense of this universal hum that none can ignore, no matter how much they say they might.