5 Meanings – The Superbowl

5 people sat together in front of a screen that made sound and light into shapes and meaning. They were Lucas Gould, Andrew Smith, Emily Smalter, Tracy Smith and myself. We asked ourselves for the meaning of the Superbowl, here’s what we found:

5 Meanings of the Superbowl

#1 A deep and open glade above the treeline sparkles pristinely in the morning snow. The white out from the previous evening has departed giving way to a blue painting skyway with wisps of streaky white hanging as if frozen in place the only reminder of how the knee deep drifts got there. Smile to yourself – you pulled yourself away from a third steel rail pale ale last night even though the band was good and the kaleidoscope eyed snowboarding girl you met at the coffee bar had just pulled in with friends in tow. You smiled at each other, once more and parted simply with the words, ‘epic pow’ serving both as a hello and goodbye. Two hundred and seventy three steps led here to the lip of the bowl. The Superbowl.

#2 A beam of light slowly creeps up Kleenex-strewn covers, highlighting a serene symphony of dancing dust mites. As a wave of shivers jolt my aching body, I instinctively sink further under the blankets, pulling them up to my ears. I’m dying. Pounding head, nose rubbed raw, swallowing shards of broken glass – I have to be dying. Is this going to be forever? With a creaking of the door and a clinking of glasses, I can smell it already. “Here, sweetie.” The only thing that could rouse me from my self-pitying, fevered existence… a steaming bowl of my mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup. The Superbowl.


He had spent a night outside with the man from the woods, who became the man across the hall, and then the Ghost Man. February be damned. It had been frigid, but they fought it back with fuzz and fire. Beards avenged the emotional trauma of a quarter lifetime-too long.
In the small hours, when the snoring had randomly subsided from the adjacent tent, he couldn’t sleep.
He had said he would try and ‘be quiet’.
The Ghost Man had said, “No worries. G’night Rooney.”
He stood by the fire pit he had shaped, cooing flames to life. Plastic-rich snow coated the world, and he slipped, barely catching himself. The owls called throughout the hollow. Bare treetops wrapped gnarled hands to cup the clearing in silence. Beyond, the deep ink of the abyss echoed pulsing blacklights. It all spiraled in to him then, coiling upon itself. It all made sense. He knew the answer.
The fire roared in the pit.


I treat the Superbowl as if it were a holiday rather than a sporting event. Much like any other holiday, we are together. Much like Thanksgiving, we are gluttonous. And as if we are waiting for the ball itself to drop – and we are – we wait for kickoff. Half-time and commercials receive the rollover commentary from my quiet minutes during the game. As with any other Superbowl in my life, I have admittedly very little awareness or understanding of what is going on, but I make sure to pick a team and cheer appreciatively at what I assume are the appropriate moments. Though it is what I refer to as both the shortest and longest month as well as the coldest month of the year, and I have caught my yearly sniffles, I am warmed by the communal ritual of everyone I know sitting around the TV to watch the same glorious event: The Superbowl – a chili bowl of American traditions, with extra cheese.


Decades have separated me from this moment. Everything in my life has led me to this exact crossroad in space and time. Trials have brought out my truth and my courage. People have come and gone, hearts broken and saved. Some strange spark keeps us all moving. A moment in another world. This day, one year ago is some sort of re-occurring dream. The monster in me, awakened and hungry. The child in me, confused. The vale between each realm is very thin this winter. The Superbowl.







About gatsbygreenlight

I am an natural economist, artist, musician, songwriter and a supporter of the planet and sustainable living. I am the author of Annalee and the Forever Smile, a Harry Potter of Sustainability and Little House on the Prairie for this generation. Annalee is a multi-novel, multi-film franchise in the YA sci-fi fantasy genre. I am a musician and songwriter with Gatsby's Green Light and as a soloist and have released over 10 albums. More info at www.kencoulson.com. I promote tangible trillion dollar markets in Sustainability at www.futurebrightllc.com. Promoting Love, Compassion and Intelligence.

Posted on February 3, 2014, in Artist Communities, Modern Philosophy and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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