Tag: purpose

4-8-05

I read this morning a yellowed piece of paper, an ancient clipping that my Aunt Helen had long ago saved, that she must have thought was inspirational. It was a poem titled, “God’s Purpose”. The first line began, “What are we here for, you and I”. The unquestioned assumption of the poem was that God has a purpose for our existence in this world. I wonder if the world can be said to have purpose? I think that it is more likely that the world has a reason for being. I think that our reality has simply emerged out of a complete and utter void simply because it could, given no laws or prohibitions against such a thing, and because it must, given no prohibition against the inevitable invention of a state of affairs that realizes its own existence. How can we find any purpose in that? Still…

4-16-05

I just returned from LaVigne’s Hotel in the heart of East Norfolk. It was a warm day, warmer than in New Jersey even though we are 400 miles to the North here. I decided, with some trepidation given the rushing traffic on Rt. 56, to walk, given that it is only about 1/4 mile to the sidewalks and streetlights. Then, I had only to walk the other 3/4 mile on the streets of the little town where it all began. I used to walk late in the night all over the town, musing about the little grade school that I had attended so many years before, not that many from my perspective now!, and old friends and events long since faded into the mists of time. Tonight I was restless. I have been working on the computer for days, composing music and writing and checking fruitlessly my e-mail for a note from Sally. Annita has been wonderful. She barraged me with up to five e-mails a day… “check this out”, “I want this”, “Here’s what I plan to do”, and so on. Suddenly, however, she stopped. I haven’t gotten an e-mail from her in three days. The emptiness has begun to set in once again. So… I decided to go and have a beer. I didn’t know what to expect. How out of place would I seem, would I feel? It wasn’t too bad. The bar was quiet, with just a few young people sitting there. The young girls were looking me over discreetly. I would like very much to be a fool and think that I was attractive to them, but I am too old and wise for that. I was someone new, someone out of place, someone who brought at least a small sense of adventure into their everyday lives.

I watched half in pretense a basketball game on the television. I looked around. There were young female waitresses as well in the dining area. I wished I was much younger, I must admit. I wondered how I should act, what my role in this place was. Was I just getting out of the house for awhile? Was I supposed to be a mystery man in the lives of the few young people and bartender at the bar? I listened to the conversation around me. A young girl, obviously over 21, sat several stools away from me next to a young man. I deduced that he worked there at other hours, perhaps her too. I liked her. I liked him. She was looking me over for the reasons I just named above, and being quite discreet about it. I would notice her glance falling upon me as her eyes swept from one person she was talking with to another. At one point she was discussing an upcoming trip to Florida. She and the young man were talking about airports, and which ones are hard to navigate and which ones are easy. You cannot get out of here by air to much of anywhere without making a connecting flight somewhere. At one point she had a mental block. “That airport in Boston… what’s the name of that airport in Boston?” She queried to the people working at the bar, coworkers I presume as I have said. One waitress answered brightly, “I don’t know, Boston airport?” There was no answer in the next moments as “Logan” drifted across my mind. Without really thinking I said aloud, “Logan”. “Yes!”, she said, “Logan… that’s it. Thank you!” The conversation went on. I left shortly thereafter, again wishing I were younger. I walked further into town. An object came into view on the sidewalk along the river in the glare of the streetlight. It was a frog. “Now what in the world is this supposed to mean?” I thought, again thinking of Sally and her one time comment about how much she liked frogs. But, I cannot allow myself to believe in such things as signs and omens, so I said firmly to myself, “It’s just a coincidence, we’re right next to a river, frogs do live on the earth!” I walked onto the bridge, thinking again of the young girl and how much I would have liked to share her company for awhile. “I need to be exposed to estrogen’s point of view”, I thought. I reflected on the young girl and all of the young people I saw whizzing past me on their way to parties, bars, friends homes. “They’re in their mating years. I’m old and beyond that”. I turned to walk home again, thinking of Sally, omens, my aloneness, young girls, phases of life, purpose, and many other things. Was there any purpose or meaning to events, to what happened to us and when it happened? Just as I arrived to unlock the door to the farmhouse, it struck me. My whole two mile walk at that time, my restlessness leading up to it, had been for one reason. I had walked two miles, sat down alone and out of place at a bar with strange young people only to utter one word. “Logan”. Then I had left, vanishing into the night as mysteriously as I had arrived.