Doug Bruns

What is to be done?

In Writing on July 31, 2009 at 1:11 am

I came to Maine with great expectations. There was the writing that has never been granted the proper time; and the reading, short stints deserving more. The thinking. The meditation. And everything else.

I have been here two months.

Most of that, the great expectation agenda, has fallen by the wayside. And I wrestle with the consequences. When you spend the better part of your life making excuses and complaining over what might have been, then through some stroke of genius, or luck, or complex consequences, you discover that you have no excuse, like a Roman warrior, having lost both the battle and the sword. What’s to be done? That is the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room, or whatever the metaphor is. (So many things escape me.)

“What is to be done” is the question of the day, the week, the month, and I am coming to grips with it. And I think successfully so.

I have spent all my life attempting to get to that place where I was meant to be. My magnetic north. Funny, the draw of a place based on something other that what you know, but rather what you think you know and finding it to be correctly imagined. Finding myself in the place where I was likely meant to be, and granted the time and energy to do that which I want to do, the question remains: What’s to be done?

Portland is my palette. Or canvas, rather. Perhaps both, perhaps medium and production. The paint and the brush. Regardless, the idea occurs to me to lift this city out of the cult of the postcard, the gloss of lobster and lighthouse and bay and show this city and all its vicissitudes: the boarders and the ink and the fishermen and the drunks and the fiddlers and the storms as well as the sunrises. The readers and the drunks and the quiet and the music and the engines and the waves; the odor and the perfume; the morning and the dark. All sing out now: We will rise above the single dimension. To wit:

All hail Portland.

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