A moment ago a man wept through the service dedicated to his wife of 54 years who is gone from him now. Sometime yesterday a patient collapsed in tearful relief as a doctor used the word “remission”and gave back the future. Last weekend two parents cheered wildly as a little leaguer whacked his first homer into the outfield. A month ago a young man bent to one knee and asked a young woman to be his partner in love and life till death should part them. On a cold winter day last year a child wailed into the light of a delivery room and an exhausted new mother heard pure joy in the cry. Six decades ago a best friend reverently placed a folded heroes flag into the arms of a grieving widow surrounded by a family and a nation. More than a hundred years has passed since a family put all they owned into crates and boarded a terrifyingly modern train headed west to a new frontier of life. Centuries ago an smocked man created effortless shadows and lights with a pigmented brush to create brilliant recreations of life on canvas. The hands of a master scribbled quarter-notes and arpeggios with an inked quill that would fill the air with symphonies. A thousand years ago a mother mourned over the death of her young child to a mysterious plague that ravaged many families as they bowed their heads in prayer.
Time continues to accumulate an un-quantifiable number of human moments. Each one full of love and fear and pain and joy. Each moment rife with feeling and memory.
Passion is a humanist status quo. To be passionate is to be human. To be human is to be impassioned by the mundane, the magical, and the mysterious.
I am passionate. I am human.