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ever dumbening
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Okay, so it's more of an analogy than a theory. I wish, though, that things were this way, so that theory formation would be simple observation and analysis of the beautiful facts.
Each successive relationship should be like each successive Pat Metheny album. I've been in love only one time in my thirty-two years, and the loss still consumes me. The desire, too, for a love so deep - deeper even - to drift by on a dry hot wind cannot be brushed away. Each new album is immediately recognized, welcomed. But full exploration takes time. The changes in personnel, in theme, in drive, focus, spirit: these take time. I know before buying in, however, that I will love it. Sadly, relationships don't, or at least haven't for me, follow this pattern.
Even tonight, as we sit and celebrate my grandmother's ninty-seventh birthday. Even as I catch the eye of nearly all the beautiful women working in the restaurant--each one differently styled and comported. Even as I make love, sometimes beyond imagination. Even as I date with relative ease. None of these are the next album. The parallel falls apart.
Of Pat's albums I own many and know each one quite intimately. And as each new one comes along, I am thrilled to see the past turn into the present. Comfort and challenge greet me as the cellophane wrap peels away.
Perhaps it's simply a matter of scale, of time. The beautiful rocks of the high desert, whose lives are incomprehensibly long, they don't look at my high speed passing with longing. They sit and their grandeur comes with The_Gathering_Sky. Maybe one day I too will sit with the rocks Finding_And_Believing.
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