Thu, 01 Jan 2004
Dear Mr. Wonderful,
Do I want you because you are wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you?
Rodgers & Hammerstein
Dear Cinderella & Charybdis,
Well, you know, as my old cradle rocker, Great-Aunt Edina Wonderful, used to say: "Why bother arguing about chickens and eggs, darlin', so long as someone's getting laid?"
Of course, and yet, that is to say, Miss Yakamoto's silvery stiletto heel pressed against the back of my neck just now does bring to mind the issue of Priority. Rather sharply. So.
People rarely want what is wonderful. To be full of wonder is to be full of mystery and mystery is all ambiguous and unable to give comfort. Mystery keeps pushing and prodding, opening doors and whisking through rooms, generating energy through action, not insulation. It rarely provides rest, preferring instead the breathless gasp. Mystery scares, and thus wonder discomfits. Mystery and wonder are open, unending essays, not taut novels. They jostle the mental faculties, and do not lull.
However. In the presence of Love, wonder increases. Contemplate any object with the lens of Love and you will find your wonder increasing, zooming through levels of complexity and mystery and depths unplumbed, like Mandelbrot descending upon an ever-expanding fractal snowman. Quotidian objects are rendered mundane by indifference, not by nature. Everything is accidental and marvelous, shocking and unexpected. You only have to care to see it.
Anyway. Point is. Rodgers and Hammerstein sounds like my last party in Berlin. Maybe they just wanted to wrap their lips around my vocabulary. Wouldn't be the first time.