Category: Favorite Songs

Sometimes when I allow myself to think about it, I feel guilty when I focus on poetry rather than on the political and environmental disasters I see happening around me. When I feel that way, though, I try to listen to Bruce Cockburn’s "Lovers in a Dangerous Time."

Don’t the hours grow shorter as the days go by
You never get to stop and open your eyes
One day you’re waiting for the sky to fall
The next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

These fragile bodies of touch and taste
This vibrant skin — this hair like lace
Spirits open to the thrust of grace
Never a breath you can afford to waste
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Sometimes you’re made to feel as if your love’s a crime —
But nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight —
Got to kick at the darkness ’til it bleeds daylight
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time
And we’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

The saddest part of all this is that I may well be dead before this "War on Evil" is finished. I can’t afford to ignore those things I love the most and simply focus on the war and the environment until the problems are solved.

I guess I just have to remember that every moment spent on those things I love is just that more precious because of the times.

I’m feeling a little guilty that unlike many of my blogging buddies I don’t have any exciting New Year’s Resolutions that I can break in the next few weeks. However, I’ve never felt the need to make resolutions, nor that they would do much good if I did make them.

Of course, I could resolve not to get cancer this year, but my body doesn’t seem to listen too well to what the rest of me is telling it or I wouldn’t have gotten cancer twice already.

I guess I could resolve to lose a few pounds but then I would have to give up eating, one of the great joys in my life, one I constantly try to balance against staying in shape for the hiking I love almost as much as I do eating.

Instead of resolutions, then, perhaps I’ll just present one of my favorite Van Morrison songs and resolve to listen to Van more this year in order to remain in a good mood longer.

“Dweller On The Threshold”

I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I’m waiting at the door
And I’m standing in the darkness
I don’t want to wait no more

I have seen without perceiving
I have been another man
Let me pierce the realm of glamour
So I know just what I am

I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I’m waiting at the door
And I’m standing in the darkness
I don’t want to wait no more

Feel the angel of the present
In the mighty crystal fire
Lift me up consume my darkness
Let me travel even higher

I’m a dweller on the threshold
As I cross the burning ground
Let me go down to the water
Watch the great illusion drown

I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I’m waiting at the door
And I’m standing in the darkness
I don’t want to wait no more

I’m gonna turn and face the music
The music of the spheres
Lift me up consume my darkness
When the midnight disappears

I will walk out of the darkness
And I’ll walk into the light
And I’ll sing the song of ages
And the dawn will end the night

I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I’m waiting at the door
And I’m standing in the darkness
I don’t want to wait no more

I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I cross some burning ground
And I’ll go down to the water
Let the great illusion drown

I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I’m waiting at the door
And I’m standing in the darkness
I don’t want to wait no more

I’m a dweller on the threshold
Dweller on the threshold
I’m a dweller on the threshold
I’m a dweller on the threshold

I don’t claim to know exactly what the song means, even after reading the various definitions of the phrase “dweller on the threshold,” but I know it has been my favorite song for a long time and am planning on having it played repeatedly at my funeral, not that I’m planning on rushing that.

I’ve felt for a long time that I’m on the threshold of a better self but have never quite become that better self. Hopefully blogging is a part of discovering “just what I am,” and I’m also hoping it will help “me travel even high.”

I’m so used to being in tune with virtually everything Jonathon says that I was a little taken aback when I read, “I’ve known for a long time that the legacy of those years is that I equate authenticity with sadness” in reply to a comment I made on his blog entry discussing Jackson Browne.

Somehow that statement haunted me this morning as I sucked up the last of this year’s leaves. At first I wondered if perhaps I didn’t agree with him. Certainly much of what I’ve written about in my blog has focused on “sadness.” My favorite literature, too, often seems centered on sadness. If I am to believe all the negative reactions I’ve gotten when I recommend Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure as my favorite book, it is, indeed, a sad, depressing novel. Many of my favorite poets also focus on the inevitable sadness that accompanies life. Blues music is undoubtedly my favorite music, and what’s sadder than “the blues?”

Still, I resisted the notion that authenticity must be identified with sadness. Sadness is authentic, no doubt about that. At times, it’s what we most remember about relationships and events in our lives. My first love ended with a “dear Loren” letter as I was about to leave for Vietnam, Vietnam was anything but happy, and admittedly my first marriage is best symbolized by Browne’s “Shape of a Heart.” Nor can I deny that these are all pivotal events in my life.

However, I still don’t “equate authenticity with sadness.” Perhaps I might subscribe to a dialectical view of life, where joy and sadness seem to balance each other out, where both are “authentic” experiences. It often seems that sadness is the direct result of a corresponding happiness. For instance, the end of my “first true love” was sad precisely because the beginning had seemed so joyous. Everything had seemed so “alive” with Judy that it suddenly seemed dead without her. I’m not convinced, though, that the ending negates the beginning. The beginning joy is just as real, just as authentic, as the final sorrow.

Of course, I followed that sad moment up with a jaunt to Vietnam, so my life seemed really sad for quite awhile, particularly since I became a caseworker after leaving the army. Ironically, it was the joy of my marriage that ended this miserable interlude and gave me new hope in life. The birth of my two children seemed to confirm that optimistic view. For a while, everything, even the end of the Cold War, seemed to offer a rosy outlook on life.

Kids who were a pain-in-the-ass in school often seem certain I will remember them vividly, but, in reality, memories of them have long since faded. Instead, I remember the kids I loved teaching, the kids that were full of life and made sharing their life a joy.

But what really convinces me of the authenticity of happiness is that I seem most alive on those days when I am doing the things I most love. I often judge my summers by how many days I spend in the mountains, and I can’t remember a bad day while hiking in the mountain. I hardly remember the days when I sit around and accomplish nothing, but I vividly remember the joyful moments I spend with my kids or with my grandson Gavin. The “authentic” days are those you remember vividly, not those you have forgotten.

One of the dangers of nostalgia, of looking back, when you’re my age, is that, like Orpheus, you may catch a fleeting glance of a love that has died, but is still following behind you, confronts you every time you look in your daughter’s eyes or pick up your grandson. While looking up “For America,” I ran into another song on the album I liked even more and one that, perhaps, brought back even more unpleasant memories than Vietnam, if that’s possible.

It’s one of several songs I used to console myself with after my 17-year marriage died a long, slow painful death. In some unknown way, it helped me to make sense of a divorce that I never wanted and never really understood. It may be the best song on Jackson Browne’s Lives in the Balance, and, sadly, seems nearly as much of an anthem of my generation as "Doctor My Eyes":

In the Shape of a Heart

Was a ruby that she wore
On a chain around her neck
In the shape of a heart
In the shape of a heart
It was a time I won’t forget
For the sorrow and regret
And the shape of a heart
And the shape of a heart

I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
She was living without

People speak of love don’t know what they’re thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of belief and belonging
Try to fit some name to their longing

There was a hole left in the wall
From some ancient fight
About the size of a fist
Something thrown that had missed
There were other holes as well
In the house where our nights fell
Far too many to repair
In the time that we were there

People speak of love don’t know what they’re thinking of
Reach out to each other though the push and shove
Speak in terms of a life and the learning
Try to think of a word for the burning

Keep it up
Try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
What breaches and faults are concealed
In the shape of a heart
In the shape of a heart
In the shape of a heart

Was the ruby that she wore
On a stand beside the bed
In the hour before dawn
When I knew she was gone
And I held it in my hand
For a little while
Dropped it into the wall
Let it go, and heard it fall

I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
What she was living without
People speak of love don’t know what they’re thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of a life and the living
Try to find the word for forgiving

Keep it up
Try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
The shallows and the unseen reefs
That are there from the start
In the shape of a heart

It sometimes seems to me that in comparison to my parents’ generation, we treated love and marriage like jewelry, something to be worn for a while and then discarded when out of fashion or when we have tired of. No need for diamonds here, rubies will last longer than this marriage!

Sadly enough, it is possible to live with someone for seventeen years and never know “what she was talking about” and never realize that “she was living without.” Perhaps it’s as simple as men are from Mars and women are from Venus, but I suspect that it goes much deeper than that. Beliefs that seemed unimportant when young and in love, suddenly seem insurmountable barriers when raising kids.

Maybe we simply weren’t willing to settle for what our parents settled for. We wanted a marriage that fulfilled all our dreams. We wanted a lover that “fits just like a glove.” Perhaps we simply expected too much from marriage and too little from ourselves. Surely if you don’t “reach out to each other through the push and shove” that’s inevitable in any relationship, it isn’t going to last.

Perhaps we simply never know each other, can “… never know/ What breaches and faults are concealed/ In the shape of a heart” until we encounter them in our evolving relationship. And, unless we are good navigators of the heart, “The shallows and the unseen reefs/ That are there from the start/ In the shape of a heart” will leave us high and dry, stranded on the island that is ourselves, cut off from all those we once loved.