Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai

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On the sidewalk outside Victrola, a young man paints. His easel sits on the sidewalk without obstructing; his canvas captures a northward view of Fifteenth, including Victrola's neon sign, in burnt oranges and muted rusts. Its beauty is almost apocalyptic. Of course, I am enchanted by the vision.

Awoke this morning to discover that something happened inside me, shifted, healed. It is unexpected. I long ago stopped imposing timeframes or durations on miracles. Gifts like these are to be enjoyed, not dissected— if they are not yet eternal, they are at the very least echoes of what will be. His grace resists definition. Our understandings are always too small.

Healing means freedom. The annoying buzz of "things are not as they should be" has quieted in my soul, though the hum of "something is coming" continues (growing faster?) beneath everything. Each day I am somehow less encumbered. The relief of this latest weight leaves me feeling stronger. And weaker. More ready.

(Overheard the transgendered woman at the next table claim Jonathan Frakes is gay. Sometimes there are too many choices of where to start being disturbed.)

Work felt orderly for the first time in a while. I was more present. Doing small things, like reducing my e-mail inbox from over 120 to under 20, brought satisfaction. Nate helped at the office in the afternoon, after lunch at La Puerta.

Arriving home, I found two packages arrived for me. One, from my friend Paul in North Carolina, was the copy of Leighton Ford's Transforming Leadership I loaned him some seven years or so ago (I've since procured a hardback version). The second package was from the Independent Film Channel— turns out I won a copy of Life Without Dick on DVD. That makes the third DVD I've won in under a year, the second from the IFC. Need to get a DVD player, or win one.

Relaxing to Justice League now, a simple evening ahead. Thank you, Lord.
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