I’ve invited you to my tribe. I’ve shown you the music, the books, the thoughts that describe me.
I’ve shown you my foundations, the stones I’m built upon, my affiliations, my interests, my religion. I’ve shown you the framework that gave me shape: my father, the military, a spartan existence, a relentless pursuit of achieving excellence in the work place.
I’ve shown you the fancier things, the ornate carpentry and leaded glass. The nicknacks saved on my shelf, attached to my refrigerator
I put a light in the window. The light speaks just three words, “come to me.”
Some will come, few really.
When you join a tribe, it’s on faith. We believe our friends are good people, that they compliment us. That 1+1 does equal 3.
Come to me. Explore thoughts and experiences, tragedies and joy. Commonality and dissonance.
A feast is set at the table. The food that never leaves us hungry.
Some will come, few really.
Walk through any big city, Devoid of eye contact. AirPods in. We’ve never been more connected but held more apart. Birth rates plummet, marriage rates plummet, religious devotion plummets. Coincidence?
Shine a light. Find your tribe. Don’t worry about quantity. Connect. Non sexual. Consensual gate opening between our lawns.
Imagine if John did not find Paul, Morrissey didn’t come to Marr, Matilde did not provide Neruda a muse?
Some will come, few really, will you?
