Flying to Boston this morning on a clear blue day, looking
out of my aisle seat number 14 window out to my right…the blinding glare of the
rising sun had just begun to pass over the top of us when I looked down…to see
that the curving coastline of Cape Cod was unfurling out below me. I craned my neck as the miles passed by tens
and twenties over the my bemused window seat compatriot when as I jockeyed to
look more ahead..I could finally see the hook and hook of the tip. This is the part of the cape…the furthest
from Boston…..that protects Provincetown.
And…as I looked down from 26,000 feet, watching the fist of Massachusetts
protecting this former Portuguese fisherman’s village…I had my epiphany. …the reason I return over and over again to
this place…the reason for the quest….the reason I need to be here. Because…I realized that not only was that
fist protecting Provincetown but….it was also there to protect me. Protect me and the countless writers and
artists and poets who also…NEED…to be here.
Here…I have my protection. Here…I
can write what I need to write with the ghost of artist and writers past
standing hand in hand on the rocks protecting me….and…all of the other current
residents of this sphere who find this tiny town a respite… and…an Eden. It finally hit me……26,000 feet in the clear
blue fall sky….and all from aisle seat number 14.
In the years ahead…I will be one of those hand in hand on
those same rocks…holding hands with the writers and artists of the past as we
protect the creators of the future….carrying this sacred place forward through
time and space.
As O’Neill [One of
the writers on the rocks] said in his masterpiece “Long Day’s Journey Into
Night”…”the moment of ecstatic freedom” . It is now something that I can call
my own. Call my own now…as I am speeding
on a ferry from Boston……now only miles from my own personal Mecca.
I have found my place.
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