Holy are the celebrations that cannot see beyond the clouds on the horizon. Oh, blessed clouds, both wrapping the gifts to come and denoting them as such! Nothing compares to the joy that results from total faith in an obscure tomorrow!
In a loosely related matter, let me tell you a story. Many years ago, I spent a summer working as a canvasser. Employed by a nonprofit, which, like most nonprofits, was profiting greatly. Anyways, I was young and open to the air. In between door knocks, I sang about floating on; I sang the most popular track of Issaquah, WA’s greatest band. I knew their whole catalog, but I didn't care - I felt the joy of their one breakthrough hit. I was floating on, only certain that I was near the beginning of my journey! Twenty-one years old, with no clear directions yet!
Oh, Pacific Northwest, how far you are now! (And how far you are today from what you were more than a decade ago.) I still consent to float on even before I know where the drift is headed. Seattle, your clouds are an idea I will always keep with me.
Do you feel yourself bound for something greater, something that you still can’t quite articulate? Damn the influences that said, "Pollute your flow with worldly intoxicants."
Let me speak for the last among you in the first person! Let me speak for the lagging and the slowly drifting; may I embody the spirit of lateness, yours and mine! Many years ago, in an act of youthful hubris, I sought to give our generation a name: "The Late Generation." It didn’t take, but it wasn't because the world didn't listen. My words, alas, are still on the way! Having encountered, it seems, delay after delay. Come, ye whispers of those messengers! Here’s to the late arrivals, may your numbers soon overwhelm us!