Women

Digging on "You're My Woman" - Van Morrison - on the Sunday morning commute yesterday. The one commute I find more melancholy than all the others.

It's that Sunday morning feel. It's watching everybody else vibe out that Sunday morning feel on my way to The Asylum.

I am more vulnerable to sensitive lyrics on the Sunday morning commute.

Beautiful, passionate song celebrating that man/woman thing. That wispy, delicate thing called woman; that ethereal, unholdable thing that floats, never touching the ground.

The wife. The mother. The wife and mother. Such a strong image, a holy thing in a spiritual sense.

"You're my woman and you're my woman, you bore my child, Lord, you bore my child, I want to thank you, I want to thank you, and no one else will do and no one else will do and no one else will do"

"And it's really real the way I feel, its really real, Lord, have mercy, look into my eyes, look into my eyes, and you realize, and you realize, its really, really, really real."

That wife and mother thing. It exponentially magnifies the magic, and the wonder. This female that you pledged your life to, mysterious from the start due to gender, magically transformed into the mother of your children, a concept so bizarre, this carrying and giving birth to the child, that it just has to be treated with reverence.

Mother's Day is a holy day. The attention it gets defies anyone to ignore the worshipping of Mom. The hype is unbelievable. Mountainous.

Father's Day plays second fiddle. Dads get a polyester tie and Brut..............by Faberge.

Dads are depicted as hapless loons, mothers are depicted as saints.

Unfair, inaccurate, but still, there is the mystique. The mom mystique. The wife mystique. The female mystique.

It is too much to overcome.

As if my emotions were not stirred enough, the following song was Tupelo Honey. A soaring, gorgeous, tribute to love.

Had to wipe my brains off the driver's side window of The Peace Mobile so the wife would continue granting me permission to drive it.

Van got me thinking about a song by Kris Kristofferson called "Thank You For A Life."

"Thank you for a life that I'd call happy, overlooking all that we've been through, when it comes to loving I've been lucky, everything I am I owe to you."

"Thank you for the little girls you gave me, thank you for them bouncing baby boys, thank you for the sadness that you saved me from, the madness, baby all I'm crying now are tears of joy."

The man/woman thing is real. Men know it. Strong men like Van Morrison and Kris Kristofferson can admit it.

These two guys are very strong men, icons and individuals, living their lives exactly as they please and succeeding wildly in a business that eats wannabes like cannibals.

Yet they feel compelled to thank their women, their loves, the wives and mothers of their children, for being in their lives.

For completing them.

They thank them with simple words bursting with emotion and gratitude, spiced with a heavy sense of wonder.

Poets and singer/songwriters seem to have a more direct path to the truth.