A Dancing Jester


Dear Eugene,

Every morning when walking Sumi I'd cross path with a neighbor from a couple of blocks away, an old lady with her little deaf-blind dog, a touchpoint we'd tacitly acknowledge from a distance away, sometimes with a nod that we weren't even sure if meant for each other, sometimes an exchange of a subdued grin, the only animated element in a familiar mise en scène, sometimes a studied opening up of wider berth between us to allow sustainable interaction.

We dance around and apart for the truth, a truth that our loved ones can't handle.

Sumi is ok as long as I keep up my diligence in self-censorship and maintain a space and subtlety that evinces my effort; her dog is fine insofar her deaf-blindness can remain so.  One calls this the working out of "Small Dog Syndrome."  Which is not to say it is not a human problem.

I'd love to believe I am an OK dad.  I'd love to say all-natural peanut butter and a touch of triple-berry sweetness between organic wholegrain bread with a banana a mug of calcium and little pellets of vitamins and Omega-3 on the side is a pretty decent way to greet teenagers who are on their way to become kings and queens.  I'd love to believe my dancing around their dominion past present and future is not too much of a distraction from their sovereignty evidenced by the opening up of space around them in a society that champions everything but cherishes nothing.

All emperors are given new clothes fit to their wish and order.

A dancing jester, Alex

Comments

  1. KartiniJune 3, 2018 at 5:33 PM

    Dear Eugene (Part 1 of 2),

    “We dance around & apart for the truth…”

    I first met her in English class after my transfer to a new high school at the eleventh grade. From the onset of the academic year,, she & I did not seem destined to be best friends. Desirable & eloquent, she exemplified a princess in modern vernacular. In contrast, I was a commoner, dreaming incessantly but failing to dance to the tune of any passionate fairy-tale life romanticized in our poetic explorations during class.

    Nevertheless, in spite of our differences, she & I must have been called to dance together as our storied lives converged. In class, the arrangement of our adjacent desks within arm lengths naturally prompted dialogues. She greeted me first & introduced herself as Alisa. Recently relocated from LA, she identified with my experience of being a new student on campus. Unrestrained & spontaneous, her eyes conveyed compassion & acceptance. I noticed her hair cascading down her neck like wildfire. My heart was ablaze: I would soon claim my humble lot in her inner world of her most loyal friends & admirers.

    As the days & weeks of school emerged before dissipating into the misty horizons of mid-Autumn, I eagerly anticipated every English class & lunch breaks with Alisa, who by October had enveloped me in her circle of privileged friends. Their embellished language & culture were presented to me like a dance in which I was straining to participate despite my self consciousness & insecurities. Conversations foreign to me revolved languidly around casual shopping in boutiques on Robson Street, sporadic flights across oceans & peninsulas & bowling next weekend to celebrate friendship.

    I was not included in the bowling event. Alisa noticed this observation & wrote her first letter to me: she expressed her regret over friends who had been reluctant to reach out to someone new & different like me, her every cursive loop & stroke loving me as her trusted, cherished friend. Grant them time & I would be accepted, she reassured me. Clipped on the letter was her wallet-sized portrait. I gasped in adoration. Her hair, magnificent in shine & curls, swirled over her black top lacing across bare shoulders. When I gazed into her eyes in the portrait, my heart must have arrested momentarily by the thought of knowing her as my beloved friend.














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  2. KartiniJune 3, 2018 at 5:44 PM

    Dear Eugene (Part 2 of 2),

    In December, the school year accelerated in sync with the anticipation of a frenzied Christmas season. Alisa & I were dancing feverishly to adjust to erratic schedules of concurrent exams, presentations, labs & projects. We studied during lunch breaks, exchanged fantasies about our ideal romantic prospects & wondered whether we would attend the same college. On the last day of school before we parted for holidays, we wished for the merriest arrival of the New Year. But beyond the school walls, the world began to fade in color as snow covered our land & chilled our hearts.

    Christmas soon arrived. The morning after, I was awakened by a phone call. One of my classmates, a close friend of Alisa, relayed the tragic news: there had been a fatal motor vehicle accident on the freeway cursed with black ice. Alisa was one of the passengers who did not survive the collision. My world collapsed. Unspoken questions without reason erupted. Hearts bled in silence.

    I’d love to believe my dancing around Alisa’s past world was intended for me to recreate an “opening up of space” around me in the present & future for others to join & dance together in truth. I’d love to imagine our dancing to such heightened fervor that we could transform “a society that champions everything but cherishes nothing” into a world more open to genuine love & friendship, a glimpse of which I had seen in my brief but endearing moments with Alisa.

    I would never be able to dance with her again & sometimes, I wondered if I may have been a dancing jester in our seasons together. But my dear Pastor Eugene, I would like to dance again in truth. -K









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