shooting star | sheila rosen

Shooting Star

In every nowhere town, there are somewhere dreams - Ron Sexsmith 

My unlikely life lands me here, 

in this urban oasis for senior adults  

as it landed me in other unforeseen spots 

through ages and changes a small girl 

tucked away in a small town could not 

have imagined — though I always knew 

I would not stay, knew there were other 

‘somewheres’ (maybe over rainbows); 

saw them every small-town Saturday night

on the silver screen. 

How unlikely my life would come to be, 

who could see? Is it the same for all?  

We follow our changeable hearts, our

headstrong wills — to eventual compassion 

for the actor who is us.  We navigate 

old rutted roads, confusing cloverleafs, 

narrow box canyons from whence we one day 

look up: our lives, burning meteors, flash across

the sky, a brief but unforgettable appearance 

on the silver screen. 

Sheila Rosen

November 26, 2019

*

Small town, Greenwood, BC, where once a week a movie was shown in the Jewel Theatre.  I think these reels - mostly B-movies - were on a circuit from town to town.  Every Saturday night, we went to see the movie, a lot of westerns, musicals, romances — seldom what you’d call a first rate movie.  It was pretty much the only show in town - in fact that’s what we called it, as in ‘I’ll see you at the show’  or ‘I’m going to the show.’  

There was a 7 and a 9pm.  Teens and kids went to the early show.  Once when Song of Bernadette was on, my friends and I were so taken with it we stayed for the second show and got in trouble for coming home late.

I don’t know how much these movies formed and influenced my thinking re the intersection of cultures, romantic love, a musical/artistic life, etc. — but maybe more than I realized.  Interestingly, on the cross-cultural note, Greenwood was a mostly Japanese community, (re Japanese evacuation from BC coast 1943) and we all went to “the show” and saw these movies together and loved them.

I think (hope) I’ve become a bit more discerning in my tastes in film as I’ve grown up and away from my dear small town and it’s ages now since I’ve gone to a “show” in a movie theatre.  But I still love the idea of settling into the row of seats with friends, family  — and then the dark and then the whole other world coming to life on the screen and taking you, all of you together, for that little while out of your own lives.

photo | late night in vancouver bc | kenji hobbs

sean beckett | numbering our days | poem

Teach us to number our days, 

For we are all pilgrims, winding our way around the clock, 

Along the edge of the years, 

Circling the sun, 

Always ending up back just where we started, 

Ahead or behind, 

Closer to the end,

Further from the beginning, 

Twisting ever upward like we are journeying on endless spiral staircases....

 

Teach us to number our days, 

Even as you teach us to pray like we are movie stars, 

And everyone, and One, is watching. 

I wonder: 

How many prayers of those stars you answered, 

Even though they were just acting, just playing a role, 

And how many prayers of ours have you answered, even when we were 

Acting, just playing a role? 

 

Lord, help us to take five, take ten, take twenty two years 

And build a montage, 

Build a moment, 

Create a cathedral of spotlights and shadows, 

A sanctuary of images for every occasion, 

A journey of 8,153 days 

That started with a single clip, 

A single snip 

Snip, snip, slip 

Backwards, to mom and her quilts, 

Cutting and stitching, sometimes snippy but not so much 

When she's creating, folding pieces together to warm our bones: 

Until it is time for a season of change, for the heart to rearrange,

To reorder the images that help us to love. 

 

Teach us to number our days, 

Let us learn this at least,

Even if we never learned jazz saxophone or New Testament Greek...

There are extra layers in these things, 

The folds of space and time bending close, 

The presence of the future pressing into our time, 

The already collapsing into the not yet. 

 

Teach us to number our days, 

That we might gain a heart of wisdom, 

Remind us we are all in art school, 

Observing the masters at work, 

Observing the Master at work all around us-- and every so often we glimpse it-- we get it. 

Teach us to get it. 

 

Teach us to get it on this Eighth Day of Creation,

Where everything is incense, 

Is disappearing like Smoke, 

Happy New Year, Old Year, Repeated Year, 

Happy loop and loop and loop: 

Time passes by, we need a song for Ordinary Time, 

we need a song for every season, for every moment, 

Help us count time, 

Help us to keep time,

To find ourselves in the particularity of this moment, 

Where all is collapsing into coincidence, and  

All birthdays merge onto January 11th. 

There will never be a night like this, but October 2nd 

Will come again, and if we play close enough attention,

Attention that is the purest form of generosity, 

The beginning of devotion, as a year 

Becomes half a day, and a day is found in an hour--- 

Teach us to number, 

So we can give all this as an oblation,

Every second, year, offered in praise-- 

That we might sing for joy-- and be glad all of our days.