Letter from the editor

I got the inspiration for this month’s letter sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus, in the center of a town that I left over 23 years ago. With close to an hour to spare I passed the time watching people come and go, and thought about all the changes that have taken place since I moved away.

In the years that have passed, this idyllic seaside resort has been bought and sold so many times there is no longer anything real on Main Street – nothing but the local chocolatier, whose ancestors settled the town and probably had no clue they were on to something big when they started making Fudge. The shoe store, and the dry goods store, and the barber shop, and the drug store, have all been replaced by swanky looking art galleries, and upscale, one-of-a-kind, jewelry marketeers.

Back in the old days this place was alive with the spirits of pirates, and privateers, and drug fiends, and ne’er-do-well seamen who lived fast and died hard. There was nothing high-falluting going on, on Cape Ann. Between the salt of the earth people, and the salt that blew in from the sea, anything that touched down on this island got forged into something real. Even as a young girl I knew that it was where life went to immerse its soul, and be transmuted in the clear blue ocean of authenticity.

Watching the Lincoln Navigators and the Hummers roll through Dock Square, I kept thinking of Sammy, and Kenny, and Fingers, and Joe, and some of the amazing people who used to live here. The ones who aren’t already gone have yet to be exterminated by the fumes that never fail to asphyxiate, everything that isn’t made of money. It is in places like this that these vapors ooze in, to buy up and shrink wrap every ounce of authenticity. The minute they arrive, anything that can’t afford them disappears. The fish must have seen it coming; they left town over twenty-five years ago.

While I was waiting for the bus to bring me around the Cape what struck me the most was the fact that there was no trace of darkness, or want, or despair anywhere in sight. Whoever took this place over had enough money to make all the dark stuff disappear. I swear to God, it was like being on a movie set, or in one of those Old-Fashioned Pop-Up books where everything looks like you could dive into the fantasy and keep it that way, forever.

And then I started wondering where the darkness went. It freaked me out to think that 50% of who we are got erased the minute this new breed of shrink wrapped people showed up to make it go away. It’s what happens with these well heeled seekers of authenticity as soon as they pull up to the curb. Reflecting on this, and imagining what life might turn into if they succeeded in erasing it permanently, it became obvious to me that without any trace of darkness, their outwardly perfect fantasy would soon evaporate completely.

When the bus pulled in for the noon time run, I couldn’t believe it; after 23 years, Debbie’s hair had gone gray, but she was still driving. From one stop to another on the stretch that runs through Lanesville, around to the center of Gloucester , we picked up six other passengers, all of whom were handicapped, disabled, and/or destitute in some way. It was there, on the Transportation Authority bus, that I thought to myself how perfect it was that the ones who were too poor to keep up with the invasion of Land Rovers were actually still alive, and while not necessarily kicking, there they were riding around on the Bus, spreading homeopathic doses of poverty and despair, providing the rich with just enough salt of the earth to keep their picturesque fantasy land alive.

When Debbie happened to mention that one of them had lost the house that she grew up in to the banks, I looked at the woman, struggling with her walker, and at her toothless companion, both of whom looked back at me and smiled. I smiled back at them and was told by the toothless one that all six passengers would soon be relocated to Beverly. I got sad for a minute wondering if it would be the beginning of the end for the rich folks once every last trace of what they don’t want to see gets completely wiped out by their addiction to sweetness and light.

As we enter this season of darkness, 50% of who we are is ready and waiting to come up for review. Don’t keep it at bay. This is no time to be duped by the belief that we need to make it go away or pretend that what makes us beautiful and whole isn’t already perfect . Beyond the seasonal need to reckon with an ever increasing absence of light, there are a million other forces calling us to jump over our shadows by continually reminding ourselves that as much as we crave sweetness and light, it is in the heart of our own darkness that we get to be the one who makes it shine.

Every time I write this letter I am grateful for the privilege. Best wishes on your journey through the dark time. Let’s make the most of it and if we come out of it in one piece, promise to meet again on the other side.

With Love,

Cal Garrison
Editor in Chief at the Spirit of Ma'at