6.9.2020 – right before my eyes

right before my eyes
confused melancholic state
stupid self pity

These are my eyes.

Images that were taken at my last eye exam.

I asked my Doctor, Dr. Susie Cho, if I could take a picture of the images.

She said that was okay but looked at kind of funny.

She really looked me at when I said I also had taken pictures of my last CAT SCAN so I could have them with me on my handheld.

I have been wearing glasses since the third grade.

I have seen a lot happen right before my eyes.

In the play, AS YOU LIKE IT, (Act 5 Scene 2), Big Bill writes, “how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes.”

I don’t have to stop and think much to realize that I have seen so much more happiness through my eyes that I rarely had to consider happiness through another persons eyes.

So that would seem to make me the opposite of bitter.

Yet for reasons real and unreal, I find myself living in that confused state of melancholy.

I think that I am approaching 60 years of age.

Its not the age that hits me, its the mileage, to quote Professor Henry Walton Jones.

The miles that I look back on.

The miles I have seen through these eyes.

I hit upon this passage from the book Sundog by Jim Harrison, which I have been rereading of late.

(I have to ask why when I quote Bill do I always seem to quote Jim?)

Mr. Harrison wrote;

I discussed with myself the utter lack of options open to us, or to anyone for that matter.

What did you wish to become?

Oh, it’s far too late for that.

It is the sweep of this life that gives a sense of relentless departure

No one is ready, it seems for the loss of control, the ineluctable character of acceleration that gathers around the later years.

Still, one looks forward toward the horizon with a heart willing to lighten.

Still,

One looks forward toward the horizon with a heart willing to lighten.

A heart willing to lighten.

It can’t be that bad.

I look to the horizon.

My heart willing to lighten and bring me to the surface, I started to hum to myself.

Stupid stupid self pity.

I recognized the tune in my head.

I had to laugh when I realized that though, on the recommendation of Mr. Harrison, I was listening to Stravinsky’s Le sacre du printemps on my headset, this other tune had snuck into my subconscious.

I had to sing out loud.

We’ve taken all you’ve given
It’s gettin’ hard to make a livin’
Mr. President, have pity on the working man

We ain’t asking you to love us
You may place yourself high above us
Mr. President, have pity on the working man

Maybe you’re cheap
Maybe you’re lyin’
Maybe you have lost your mind
Maybe you only think about yourself

Too late to run, too late to cry now
The time has come for us to say good-bye now
Mr. President, have pity on the working man
Mr. President, have pity on the working man

That is how it happened.

Honest.

Right before my eyes.

*Mr. President (Have Pity on the Working Man)
by Newman Randy

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