Good Morning Kossacks and Welcome to Morning Open Thread (MOT)
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O Fortuna,
velut Luna
statu variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis;
vita detestabilis
nunc obdurat
et tunc curat
ludo mentis aciem;
egestatem,
potestatem,
dissolvit ut glaciem.
Some mornings are more Latin than French, some more country than rock, and some more diatonic than chromatic. This Friday morning is one such morning and it calls to mind Carl Orff's Carmina Burana and the struggles each of us is going through just to make it through the day.
Rather than simply take a trip through my muddled mind this morning, I would like to spend a minute echoing within this chamber of ours about the importance of community. Fate placed us here—all of us—at this very moment in time; and like a marriage of convenience, I guess we need to make the best of an awkward situation. Ashamed because of who I wish to be, I admit to having shed more tears this week than I have in many years. Ours is a community that is going through a tough time, so, if nothing else, I want to remind everyone that we must always remember when.
I remember when I first felt pain, when I first learned to dance, when I first read a poem that made me cry, when I first kissed a girl, and when I first heard the music which begins this diary.
A medieval Latin Goliardic poem of the early 13th century, "O Fortuna" is nestled in a collection of such laments known as the Carmina Burana. This poem, sometimes referred to as a complaint of fate, is more a study in mythological luck. But for me it's a personal place of respite and contemplation. Remember, if you will, that this collection of verse sat silent for some 700 years before it was given voice.
I remember when these few minutes of "O Fortuna" defined my life; to this day they take me back to my college days, a particular day of self-pity that only endless grey skies, relentless snows, and the heartbreak of lost love and early sunsets can stage. I remember when, hidden in the listening room of the library, I first heard, through the crackle of vinyl, these notes of hope and understanding.
And I remember when I first held my son and when the measure of the universe judged me the lesser mortal. This morning, through a scratchy past, I hear a communal music that gives me the strength to count and appreciate my meager blessings.
O' Fortune
Like the ever changing moon
With its waxing or waning light,
Ours is a hateful, brutal life;
Our feelings, like a game of dice,
See poverty and power melt like ice.
Grab your cup and join us, please.
How are you this morning?