Dissonance

Tonight for the first time in many years, a song made me cry.  Brad Paisley’s “Last Time For Everything” struck a deep chord.  I was unprepared for it, and perhaps that was why it took me unawares and slipped beneath my guard.  Anyway, I wanted to share that with someone, anyone. It’s a fucking awesome song.  Even if it’s country.

Why is our mis-spent youth coupled with verity?  I sit here, in luxury, with the finest whiskeys (Jameson Black Barrel at the nonce) and ponder the spiritual hunger that has been so recently slated.

A dear friend (grown dearer in privation) stayed at my home for a few days.  In the evening we talked and talked, our wives growing weary and leaving us alone.  In the mornings we talked and talked, our wives growing weary and proceeding about their days. The summer days were departing, but leaving an Autemnal glory in pale blue skies and incandescent mornings with the sun spilling over foggy valleys and into our cups of artisinal Keurig coffee.

Our conversation ranged across epochs and continents.  I learned far more than I imparted, and now have a treasury of “leftovers” to consume over time.  We connected not only as man to man, but as Christian to Christian and as father to (wayward) son, as healer to patient, Westerner to Missionary, Merchant to Prophet, and, most importantly, friend to friend.

In that latter mode, I found the most Etruscan sympathy, far beyond what might have been gained at our ORHS reunion.  I found a spirit who shared the experience of seeing Star Wars at 9 years old.  A spirit who had lived under the Cold War threat, and participated in the slow demise of “the Ridge.”  Fellow travelers, who, despite disparate lives before and since, were bound by the crucible of youth.

I recognize that my garrulous and self-righteous verbosity repels, rather than attracts, those who might otherwise be partners in that intellectual exchange which, outside of marriage and confession, is the most human of all endeavors.  And perhaps, the insistence of limited time poured fuel on the fire of a resurrected adolescent relation.  But, I cannot see as anything else but Providential, the meteoric days that my friend spent enriching my life. 

In amicitia, veritas.  In veritas, vita.  In vita, salus.