Jesus himself on Park and Main
I wish to comment on a photo that the editor used to fill up a half page in the Nov. 1 edition. The photo purports to show an eagle clutching a seagull in the South End, which sounds quite painful. The implication is that the seagull was deceased as a direct result of the eagle’s personal involvement in its day.
But if the seagulls I know that live in the South End had anything to do with this nasty little scenario, then ‘twould have been a photo of the seagull clutching the wretched and ragged remains of the eagle.
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Thanksgiving morn was as bright and beautiful as one could wish for, around my grain silos at the end of Mechanic Street. The harbor was as calm as a tortoise on valium, there was not a breath of breeze, and the sunlight filled the air itself with the flavor of gold. Please don’t ask me what gold tastes like; I am only trying to describe the scene.
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Have you noticed the young chap who likes to perform at the corner of Park and Main, sometimes doing his thing with not even a shirt on his back? On the whole, so far as I can tell, it seems he likes to waves weighted ropes about over his head in some kind of mysterious pattern. The other day as I drove past he was actually trying to balance on his hands.
Just what he is up to, who can say? Is he sending messages to the mother ship that waits for us all, behind the moon? Is he trying to make it rain? Is it some sort of war dance? Is it politics or art? Does he just need valium?
He reminds me of that fellow who likes to run around town on cold mornings wearing only the slightest hint of vestment, his skin bright scarlet and carrying rocks in his hands. What is it with these chaps? Is it good or is it bad? It’s certainly interesting. I say let them carry on.
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I think the time will soon come when it will no longer be acceptable to drive one’s truck across the runway at Owls Head without bright warning lights being attached and lit. The fact that it is presently permissible to do this hints of an informal amateurism that, unfortunately, is no longer going to cut it.
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Speaking of the corner of Park and Main, do my eyes deceive me or is that a Santa Shack that has been set up there? And is this the same town where last spring there was a hue and cry over a restaurant that wanted to serve food to hungry people on this very spot? And has this same town now licensed the spot for religious purposes?
Personally, of course, I favor both restaurants and Santa being able to use this pleasant corner. But am I alone in detecting the odor of stir-fried hypocrisy drifting on the November breeze? Where are the righteous objectors now, demanding that this place sacred to the memory of our war dead not be converted to the uses of a minority religion like Christianity? Or at least Santa worship?
They were pretty hot to trot in the business of trying to exclude the restaurant from using the same location in March. Maybe this time around they had a personal visit from little people wearing pointed slippers and long beards, and with unusual ears…
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Speaking of the odor of righteous objection, I rely on the observations of a particularly astute fellow who told me the following thing, Saturday afternoon.
As the crowds began to assemble for the annual Santa Lights Thingy that evening, he said, a certain person was seen carrying a poster or banner downtown which bore a legend to the effect that homosexuality is a sin. How awful, I replied, and was genuinely upset to hear this. After all, what if in later years I turn out to have been gay all my life but just wasn’t able to figure it out soon enough? Then my life will be a sin, and presumably my sin will be calculated retroactively with many years of arrears to make up.
In a similar vein, we have all been subjected lately to the protected-speech entreaties of other religious folk standing about in the cold weather (also near Park and Main,) holding banners emphasizing the wrath of God, and all since the voters of Maine recently approved of letting all kinds of humans legally suffer in marriage.
Perhaps it is time for such folks to spend some time privately in prayerful reflection, followed by a sincere examination of conscience. And by this I mean prayerful silence, not merely a time of repeating their own words to themselves until they become convinced that the good Lord has a Maine accent.
If by some remarkable effect we should happen one day to see Jesus himself on Park and Main, having some time free to spend greeting passersby in this busy corner of town, I very much doubt he would squander such a rare opportunity by announcing to every passing soul just how angry his father is with everybody today. I really do doubt it, more than mere words on a page can say.
I think his message to Rockland would be something else.
David Grima is a former editor with Courier Publications. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or by standing downtown with a banner.