Two Dollars And Twenty-Seven Cents

America, I have given you all and now I am nothing.

A friend once asked me about the title of my blog. He said, "I get it. The subway fare is 2.25. and this is you giving your two cents, making $2.27. It's your story about New York." I thought he was immensely clever. Of course, such wit is far beyond me, and that is not the reason.

This is:



Today, a dear -if recently acquired- friend of mine regaled a story of meeting Allen at a dinner in the 90s. Of spiritual discussions, and still, at the end of the night, of open questions and open doors. We talk and we feel and we think, but all we truly want is warm skin and eyes to pierce our own.

Allen and his beautiful insanity, his sage words and loving eyes and roaming body. Allen and his perpetual search for love, for life, a black preacher in the Church of the Word and everybody says Amen. Allen and his mad beard and his heavy heart, they were clever enough to give their two cents. I merely trundle after, as closely as I can, and bask in whatever glitter trickles off the madness.

America, you gave me all, and now I am something.

It occurs to me that I am America.
I'm not sorry.