Today is my birthday.
That's pretty cool. A year ago I was an addict and dying.
Today I am more alive than ever. God is merciful, almost no one who goes down as far as I did ever comes back up. When I did I first opened my eyes and then I opened my hands and saw that a shiny white pearl was in each palm.
This weekend some friends took me out to a pre-birthday dinner at Amherst Chinese. Beforehand I played tourist guide by bringing them to Emily Dickinson's grave in downtown Amherst. They took my picture but wouldn't let me take theirs.
I asked why they didn't want their picture taken and they said they didn't want to appear on this blog. They said they wanted to preserve their privacy.
Privacy? What's that?
There were many offerings left on Dickinson's grave, including a harmonica. We left a burning candle.
The candle burned into the night, where it may have served as a beacon to lost spirits who perhaps might gather at Miss Emily's grave for a poetry slam.
Outside Amherst Chinese was this sticker.
It reads "Religions are our attempt to give form to the divine because we suck at contemplating raw infinity."
If I catch myself thinking about aging I try to remember what the wise Pine Pine philosopher Miss Mean Mary Jean once said, "Whenever I find myself worrying about getting older, I remind myself of those I have known who were denied the privilege."
How old am I?
Old enough to know better but still too young to care.