Sunday night, in the dark of mid-winter, light seemingly still glowing from the snow, though I know that could never be. Moonlight, perhaps, the kind that brings out a certain wildness, that would have us dancing naked beneath its glow if it were just a smidge warmer. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…
Bed, bed I couldn’t go to bed My head’s too light to try to set it down Sleep, sleep I couldn’t sleep tonight Not for all the jewels in the crown I could have danced all night I could have danced all night And still have begged for more I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I’ve never done before
I’ll never know what made it so exciting Why all at once my heart took flight I only know when he began to dance with me I could have danced, danced, danced all night
It’s after three now Don’t you agree now? She ought to be in bed!
I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night And still have begged for more I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I’ve never done before
If I’m up beyond three these days, it’s not from the overwrought excitement from a night of dancing – quite the opposite. My nights are more restless than usual, my sleep not unfettered from bother and worry. Middle-age, I suppose, and so far from the carefree slumber of youth. Sunday nights aren’t supposed to feel sadder the older we get, are they?
A swan’s beauty and grace is matched by its brutality in the way of survival. Power and might must be tempered with all that is exquisite; every gift of elegance must be tainted with icy indifference. Nothing is ever perfect, no entity is ever truly divine. That rarely keeps us from trying – to achieve perfection, to achieve divinity, to be something better than we are today.
I’ve said that so many times before…
This dance of the swans sets the scene for any sort of magic that I attempted to conjure twenty years ago. It’s a hint of the dance to come – a dance I hope you will join. We need to dance these days. Dancing may be the only thing to keep us from going mad.
One day, in the spring, I found a pile of gray feathers in the backyard. It looked like a morning dove had exploded, but most likely it was the quick work of a hawk or some other larger bird of prey. I don’t think a land animal could have been as vicious or fast enough to do something so devastating. Creatures of the air are more terrifying that way. Like the swans.
Music without words, emotions without expression, the riotous heart, the soothing sea, and all the feels. Evocative of the beginning of most fairy tales, when the world still seems like it might not change, when the trajectory and irrevocable journey we find ourselves on could still be something of our dreams, we begin every tale with the confusing dust of a fairy beautifully clouding our view.
A siren song sets the scene in motion, and when it’s over the trick of time – cunning and relentless and brutal – does everything it can to take the song away.
Hold onto it in your head, hold onto it in your heart, hold onto it when it feels like there is no melody left to remember. Far too often, we don’t realize when things are beginning, only when they are already in motion and hurtling along at breakneck pace. Those trains don’t stop easily, and the world will completely derail your plans if you’re not careful.
David Beckham should have done an ad like this for his own line of underwear and it might still be in production. Instead, he’s delivering his finest assets for the current line of BOSS Bodywear in the commercial seen below. It’s been far too long since Beckham has been in his skivvies, and this happy renaissance marks a return to fine form. See all the links below for further evidence of his bodacious brilliance.
“Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young Prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the Prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.
But then, one winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the Prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.
The Prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous Beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there.
Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.
The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a Beast for all time.
As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope For who could ever learn to love a Beast?”
Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me, Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee; Sounds of the rude world heard in the day, Lull’d by the moonlight have all passed away!
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song, List while I woo thee with soft melody; Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng
Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea, Mermaids are chanting the wild Lorelei; Over the stream let vapors are borne, Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
What an awful month this has been, and so far what an awful year, so there is no love lost and no hesitation in saying goodbye to this particular January. Tomorrow begins a new month – the last full month of winter – and I’m working on a release of a project/tour book that I did twenty years ago. That’s if I find the balls to show off some very questionable pics and poses, which is an empty threat, because of course I will.
As for the final gasp of January, everyone I know is ready to put it to rest, so let’s celebrate the passing of the first full month of winter, all thirty-one days of it, all the awfulness of it, all the trying and terrifying brutality of it…
Every once in a while I’ll call my friend Chris for no substantial reason other than to tell him I made a killer breakfast or some other insignificant and largely mundane bit of information (often the call goes out after a therapy session when I’m in a rare mood to talk). Here’s how a recent check-in went:
ME: I just made the most amazing French toast, using egg nog! And it’s a life-changing experience.
CHRIS: I’m a father who has to drop off his kid at school.
Maybe releasing 1500 convicted criminals for their role in the January 6th insurrection wasn’t the best way to back the blue and support law and order, as some are already having run-ins with the law. At least one of these altercations resulted in the pardoned criminal being shot and killed. Criminals are gonna crime, right? It will be interesting to see what happens to those 1500 criminals who suddenly feel they’ve been vindicated for their violent actions – doesn’t feel like the deterrent it should be. Watch this space for more FAFO moments, because they’re coming. Maybe this should become a new category, like Tom Ford or Madonna or Male Models… The FAFO Files… perfect for this time in our country, and the next four years.
Winter has been having its way with me, and rather than fight that, or work on embracing it, I’ve lately been letting it simply flow. I feel my body slowing down a bit, and I’ve been taking time to simply watch winter as it goes by. A certain bit of slumber and hibernation often come into play during this season, and I lean into this sense of nesting; staying home becomes comfortable habit, one that I’ll have to break when spring comes again. For now, I go with my sedentary heart and mind, lounging and cuddling into our unmade bed.
I’ll sink into the couch in late afternoon, as the last rays of sunlight fall into the living room, and read a little, or go into my daily meditation. It is a place of peace, and a time of tranquility, somewhat at odds with the rest of the world, and that’s always been my way.
Even the prickliest among us, and I acknowledge I may one of them, deserve some love. We don’t always mean to attack, it’s just our armor, and some of us needed that armor to survive. If you were lucky enough not to need any, consider yourself fortunate. As for those who make others go through a little more to love them, I choose to think that sometimes it’s worth the effort. Love is always worth the effort.
