The melody playing in my head is neither hip nor hop but rather the soothing soundtrack of obsession. There are no uplifting words of hope and happiness but just the simple “rebel L’s” [thank you, Sesame Street] of “I’m a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me?” Yet the one who sings that is anything but a loser and in fact is a winner because I know his name but he doesn’t know mine. I know what he looks like but he couldn’t pick me out of a crowd.
Even on a bird sanctuary among the elite flocks our one robin appears perky in the dew. We don’t know if he’s happy but he’s certainly perky as he pulls worms from clumps of grass. We think he says, “See? There’s nourishment everywhere and you don’t have to be a rare endangered species to partake of the abundance and beauty that’s within you and without you.” And in fact without you there is no beauty.
The rising sun’s light trumps the waning moon’s light. Straight, strong rays versus diffuse reflection. Nonetheless that bluish ghost is what we see when we look away from the sun and into the heart of the sky, whose vastness holds us. Every breath, every moment the same/not the same. We go to ground in its boundless embrace.
But how can we go to ground in the sky? Or is that the point? The robin flies, but he hops around a lot, too. Not hip, but hopping.
