/STOP FEEDING THE PIGEONS

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Stories are perhaps the one place we can’t lie to ourselves. Even if we dared to try – the truth of our lies would stand out. They would be bolded and italicized in the book of life, paraded across the page as a joke, a jester amongst jacks and lords. That’s not to say that all stories stand the test of time. Chronicles can be abridged, adjusted, amended or absconded with, but the truth, big T or little t, remains.

This new endeavor, Wordy Pursuits, was borne of necessity, chance and hope. Probably, this blog also arose from my need to wrestle with my thoughts – and more importantly, the thoughts of those who came before me. For the past couple of years I’ve been absolutely conquered by a statement made by Carl Jung, “People don’t have ideas. Ideas have people.” So, perhaps I should amend my previous statement to say that I am here to wrestle with the thoughts that have had me and have possessed others whom I highly regard as critical, rational and hopeful thinkers. It’s a terrifying idea in one sense, and it’s freeing in another. On the one hand – you are not free to dissociate from the fatalistic and nihilistic ideas that ravaged the twentieth century. However, on the other hand, you are free to associate and contend with every idea that comes within your purview. We are not called to master every theory or notion, but we are commissioned with the pursuit of battle.

The current war, or at the very least shot across my bow, has been fired by an old DC Vertigo comic that I just recently decided to dive into. At the end of The Sound of Her Wings, The Sandman, the eternal Dream (Morpheus), is coming to terms with his past and accepting his inevitable and necessitous place with renewed enthusiasm. He walks with his sister, Death, also of the Endless, as she performs her perfunctory roll of transitioning those who have just died to their new normal in the sunless lands. Dream and Death look on as a comedian literally “dies” on stage. Panel after panel provide us a glimpse into unwitting characters’ final scenes; an overdose in his recliner, face down in a puddle under a bridge, alone in a hospital bed, shot in the gut and sliding down a brick wall in an alley. Franklin, a young vivacious beau, who had earlier flirted with Death does not know that he has just clinched his date with the same. Mirth plays at the corners of her mouth as she walks Franklin over to find where his body landed after being violently upended by a vehicle having unsuccessfully retrieved an errant soccer ball. Dream has a renewed sense of purpose after seeing his sister at work and getting an earful for not having the fortitude to find a new purpose. He comes to the realization that his sister is right and that there are people who need him to restore his kingdom. “There is much to do in my kingdom. Much to restore. Much to create.” He throws the yellow sand in the air and smiles as he hears the wings of Death flit off to transport more souls to the sunless lands.

Universally, we reach a point in our lives where we begin to feel sorry for ourselves, disdain for those whom we feel have stolen opportunities or time from us, apathy towards the destruction of the individuals or systems that have hurt us, and resentment for those who have found their purpose. Wordy Pursuits is an acknowledgement of those unwarranted feelings, while also being a call to restore and to create. Rome was founded in 753 BCE, became the Roman Republic in 509 BCE, stamped its mark in history as the Roman Empire by 27 CE, began its decline under Commodus in 180 CE, and has served as a cautionary tale since 476 CE. That is all to say – Rome was not built in a day, nor was it destroyed in a day, but what is built can be destroyed in considerably less time. But, what of rebuilding? Rome has never reached its prior glory. People no longer tremble at the name Caesar, but Rome has survived and flourished into a cultural epicenter. Rome’s story and influence are far greater in its renaissance than they ever were as a despotic empire. This blog, and I shudder to call it that, is dedicated to the stories and the ideas that invite us all to dream. It’s dedicated to the dreamers; those of us who haven’t given up on the magic that’s just outside of our periphery, on the outer margins of all that we can imagine. Oh, the title! I almost forgot. It’s good to reminisce and think upon the things we could have done better. Sit on the park bench for a bit. Throw the pigeons some bread if you have to, but we are of those who believe the pigeons can fend for themselves.

Get off the bench. Find a new game to play. There is much to do in your kingdom. Much to restore. Much to create.

What dream do you have a burning passion to revive? What lie have you been telling yourself that has prevented you from creating the life you desire?