Thirty-Two Years

Of the several posts I write each year -- birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, general shenanigans -- the one I write for December 8th is always the hardest. I usually bounce ideas around in mid-October before my mind gets lost in the shuffle, and December 1st then rudely smacks me in the face; at that point, I usually sit in front of an empty composition page, watching the little character indicator bar flash mechanically at me, daring me to say something that sounds neither corny, nor trite. Each year, I try just that little bit harder, attempting to make something better, and miserably failing; this year, I'm approaching the subject differently.

Tonight, the Imagine Peace Tower will be shut off. The giant pillar of white light will not grace the skies as it has for the last two months, and won't again for a little while. Somewhere in that message is a sad symbolism: the light that is turned on to commemorate a birth shines only for the shortest time before it is dimmed. While the act is poignant, and accurate in many ways, it is not indicative of my point of view. To me, the man that light was designed for has never had his metaphorical light turned off. Thirty-two years later, the ideals he believed so strongly in are still being sought by masses of like-minded people whose cause has adopted a more than worthy poster boy. While there are many facets to John Lennon, the most publicized one must surely be his and Yoko's crusade for peace. Here's one way to look at it: how many artists can record an anti-war Christmas song that receives radio play over forty years after original release? What other artist could create an anthem as iconic and widely embraced for their cause as "Imagine"? It's all just as relevant now as it was then. Looking from my view, the light is bright, without any sign of fading. As long as those like-minded people keep that core value safe, the light should never go out. It is important, then, to take a minute out of your day to think peace, act peace, and imagine peace. Maybe, while you're at it, think of John.