(an earthly skin which may be, sadly peeled bald, riddled with global warming legions in lieu of seasons by the time my life is doubled)
Thirty-fucking years. I am the result of propagating genetic residue; a wayward strand of coiled DNA sweat of a species first reproducing sexually as a severed micro-organism bacteria split three and a half billion years ago (3, 500, 000, 000) on a planet that is estimated to be a billion years older than that (4, 500, 000, 000)--a descendant of a rather apish hominid making it's appearance a little over seven and a half million years ago (7,500, 000) being nourished by the nearest solar life generating bulb, the sun, only 93 million miles away, shepherding and shaping the anatomy of our selected ancestral aunts and uncles into something resembling the current reflection of my own sleep-addled countenance just over one million years ago-- the cave art of lascucuex and les tres freres, what the inside of my blogg would resemble; ie, spawned from the aesthetic barometer of mankind in the makings first attempt to show someone the color of his heart--the ineffable urge to create and to give and to love, skirting onto the historical time line a slim 25,000 years ago.....
Thirty-fucking years of life on this cozy little lovable galactic fleck of inhabitable dandruff. Magnetically buoyed, back spinning around a thermonuclear cosmic hearth of the sun, for in every strand of love and mysticism, there is dance and spinning and growth--holding someone at a distance and watching them shine. For such magnetism and love does exist.
Thirty meted yearly installments of wonder and curiosity and craziness. Thirty years of monopolizing the majority of each bartered breath joyfully and naively oblivious to the wonder of creation, to the fact that I exist at all, that I have grown up in a usurped continent that has become the most opulent republic ever constituted under the morning umbrella of the planet. Thirty years of excessive materialism and spiritual guilt and creative pandering and curiosity. Thirty years where the advances of science and technology has been UNSURPASSED in the historical discourse of this planet. Half-my life being spent now genuflecting in front of the ocular glass and unblinking tint of the computer screen, where in addition to pursuing my drooling love of language and poems and story telling (fun stuff) i have instantaneous access to everything I have ever wanted:Every sexual yearning and late-night vice; every curiosity and wonder and insight in the world of arts, the sound of the voice that has been with me all my life patterning gentle sonnets across the mouth of instant messenger.
Thirty years on a continent that has milked dry the udder of natural resources of her planet still while it is in it's maiden years. Thirty years of smiling and blinking and communicating and obeying the laws of physics. Thirty years of love and digestion and wanting. The occasional wished for spurts of compassion. The blissful feeling of joy and longing and oneness.
A skipped dash of thirty slipped years in a vast universe flooded with an estimated over 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 different solar orbs stationed vast distances apart in what us humans perceive to be the canopy of the night sky from our cosmic nest. Each star capable sustaining the the cultivation of planets harboring bacteria and biology's. In a universe in which recent advances in the field of astrophysics has scientifically diagnosed our reality our universe as being comprised of at least 25 percent dark matter-a universe where much more is happening behind the stage curtain than in front of the audience--a reality where the unseen, the mystical, yields more of a compelling force in our day to day activies and choices then perhaps we can ever possibly discern.
Thirty years, being born in this time and place. realizing that you are 1 of 56, ooo,ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo (one vs. 56 trillion) disparate genetic possibilities that you turned out the way you did. In this time and place. Realizing you are the sole production of a night your parents got lucky. Realizing that if they would have waited a day, and hour, minutes before or nanoseconds later, you would simply not exist at all.
(this is why we hate thinking that our parents actually "did it"--it's actually an neurological impulse to the preservation of self )
Like one of the ten pending Guests the reader shall meet over the next ten days once told me on his front porch six years ago, "All we really are, from a macrocosmic universal perspective, is glorified cosmic bacteria trying to figure out just what the fuck is going on and not really being able to see things out of the shell of our own skulls much at all."
On a planet where the majority of animals and creatures are surprisingly water creatures and insects. This human being, a corporeal future hyphen etched into a future tomb stone someday between a dueling pillars of years. This glorified cosmic bacteria is capable of feeling such great things. Such unity. Such compassion. Such pain. Such confusion And ultimately, such love.
What follows is a birthday gala for those individuals who have changed my life. It was inspired by chapter one of Marcus Aurelius' MEDITATIONS, where the keen Roman emperor of antiquity reflects over the individuals who have mattered most to him in his lifetime and what everlasting virtues was gleaned from such mentors. It is a thank you for those individuals who have changed the way I look at the world and who have challenged me to give more, to laugh more and to smile.
So, without anymore further delay....