Tangueray and Torah

An effervescent April, lilac hued I think, knocked on my door this morning and told me I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Not that I was ever in Kansas. Or that I like young Judy Garland all that much. I think it was more of a metaphor about childhood and expiration dates.

This is the first time that I'm in a chapter of life that doesn't have a definitive endpoint. It feels Homeric. You don't "graduate" from elementary adulthood. There won't be caps or gowns in four years, or in eight years, or in twelve. There won't be time-defined friendships that cycle and fizz. Nothing is given. Everything is about take.

Where is this all going? The feminists are wearing skirts and kneeling in the kitchen, lamenting over crumbs. The pseudo-clandestine homosexuals can't figure out what side of the mehitzah is the pious one. I'm standing in the corner, blasting REM, and I know I've chosen my religion but it won't make up its mind and tell me what page we're on.

If I can love more than one person, if I can believe in more than one moral code, if I can subscribe to more than one tradition and fall prey to more than one judgment...am I a polytheist? I do believe in one God...

There's a feather in one hand, a candle in the other, and a sea of questions in between. Dive.