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Birthdays - Proof of Unsung Songs


To think in the same manner as everyone else means restricting yourself to everyone else's limitations. Those humans who invest the merest five minutes of thought to understand this at a secondary level end up massively outproducing literally hundreds of their contemporaries. People who do not invest five minutes of genuine consideration are in the 93 percent of all humans who wouldn't be missed if they left. Well, strictly speaking, they would be missed -- by those whom they serve. Everyone on earth has a definite goal or they serve someone who does.
To think in the same manner as everyone else means restricting yourself to everyone else's limitations. That defies ee most basic belief in self as a unique creation of the Architect of the Universe. A cornerstone of every known religion on earth, including the eleven I am most intimately familiar with, is that every human being is a distinctly unique creation of the greatest Artist of all time. To repeatedly mimic one's neighbor is to adopt whatever limitations that neighbor accepts as
This belittles the magnificence of what that Architect has created. To treat someone specially one day of the year is not only a direct blasphemy of the ultimate and most sophisticated creation of all time - THE HUMAN BEING --, as well, it belittles the individual, telling them "You are only special on this day." Why would I celebrate the day of my birth, rather than, "Wow, this is the month that I was born, I'm going to make this a VERRRRRRY special month?" The primary reason for why you see me grabbing happiness and pleasure through all of these tragedies and challenges is that I had the enormous and great good fortune to have a mentor named Bernard Francis Kellogg II, who taught me that every single day is the single most exciting day of my life. This is how I wrote all those songs and the two concertos; this is how my brother became so gifted with mechanical anythings, this is how you got so great at Bergdoff bargains: each time we approach our beloved tasks, something crackles, snapples, and energizes with perkifying instigating catalytic power, urging us to excel and get the best possible performance. In the human scope of experience there is a reliable approximation of success occurring in the general neighborhood of one hundred and four percent of the time, give or take two percent in either direction to allow for statistical anomalies or aberrations.
In this case, we're talking about your particular "birthday." This is G-d's work, and it's a magnificent portrait of portraits, with 48,000 of the most unimaginably sophisticated fibers in each ear to enable and empower you; when breath is expelled from the mouth of a robin or a child, you enjoy the permanently life-altering thrill of technology - translated into the robin's song at Springtime; you drink in one of very few things in life that is truly awesome: when you get to hear a child say, "I love you, Mommy."   Just stop and consider that sound.
All because of the work of an Artist; the Artist of all time. When painting you, it is unimaginable to think that, with all of the excellence and sophistication, the kindness and wonder that he built into you, our Architect and Artist would want us to treat you "specially" on just one day of the year.
Each and every day that I know you, it is my goal to remind you how special and treasured and loved you are. May "one special day" never come to pass, only days of increasing pleasure at the exchange of such profound mutuality. One more day? A blessing it is -- goodness and light if blessed with one after that.
How urgently do I hope that I'm not the only one of the two of us to get that electrifying thrill every time we get to hug. I've known you for ten months now, have spent hundreds of hours with you, and can only say that the last time we hugged, I still got that thrill running through me. How sad it would be if I'm the only one getting that much excitement and fulfillment and validation. If ever there were a dish that tastes better when shared, the physical and emotional feelings that wash over me in waves and waves so similar to a perfectly hot beach day with the waves tumbling and caressing us head to foot; if ever there were a dish that multiplies by the act of its consumption it's hugging you, and therein lies the urgency of hope that I'm not the only one, because it's clear that you deserve to feel this. Birthdays? Special? Sweetheart, EVERY day is your birthday to me. YOU'RE special!

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