|from the inside looking out
Thursday, 24-Aug-2000 00:21:00
I reflected a lot over this weekend, while missing the reunion, on why it seemed so meaningful to be there. During the weekend I went to this extrodinary museum. One room was simply entitled, "witness." There were tribal masks of initiation, death masks and other commemoratives, interspersed were amazing sculptures by surrealist artists, and various other gems, such as a detailed maze drawing from a psychiatric patient. All were indefinable and alive. Who ever chose that mix was brilliant and self- authorative. I felt at home, met in a way I rarely feel met. The sort of beauty, sort of ugliness, the humor, the pathos all felt familiar.
As I end the first half of my life and begin the second and final half, the original me; from way back when; has called out more and more, "Remember me, honor me, include me with dignity." And I have asked myself would I know?
Going to the reunion felt like a chance to hold a million mirrors, gently lit I hope, to each of us to see that young one within us as well as the one without, and relax.
I'm sorry I missed it but I'm sure glad it happened .