And it’s where most of us live—
hopefully edging closer to sacred,
maybe spiking periodically to the profane.
It’s a daily, if not hourly, choice.
I’m very fond of Martin’s music,
and the lyrics of this song track with many listeners—
mystified by the hold of love and passion,
particularly when it’s not generally acceptable
for one reason or another.
It’s as if we have no choices.
Clearly dramatic—and possibly tragic—
when feelings grow in impossible directions.
This is the source of so much of our art, drama, and music.
It is what I call a connective story.
I made that category up.
A connective story is one that the culture broadly relates to on a personal level.
The details may differ,
but the beginning, middle, and end are very familiar.
It’s the kind of story that, once you start telling it,
everybody’s head nods in affirmation.
It points to our shared experience.
The thing about this particular story is:
it doesn’t have to follow the expected line.
There are choices to be made.
We are not zombie-like,
forced to walk a certain direction because of our feelings.
Feelings are wonderful—
but very bad guides.
Unfortunately, we have too many catchphrases and movie taglines that blur this concept:
“Trust your feelings, Luke.”
Or worse:
“This feels just right, so it can’t be bad.”
Great for movies.
Not so good for living.
Feelings are not the best things for labeling “good” or “bad.”
Feelings are a response to stimuli—
they may require action,
or perhaps just awareness.
An analogy:
A blind person’s desire to cross a complicated room.
The goal is set,
the direction chosen,
and off they go.
Bumping into a table is like a feeling.
You can use the information
to assist in your original direction—
or you can eat the poppies of Homer,
and never leave the comfort of tableness.
“If I wasn’t meant to experience table,
then it wouldn’t have been placed in my path.”
Meh.
