My old man played Leonard Cohen’s ‘The Stranger’ and says to me; “you were named after the line in that song” and who am I to call him a liar?
OK, he’s a liar. He’s prone to telling stories and making stuff up on the spot to fit whatever has taken his fancy. I am named after my great, great, great grandfather, who’s walking stick I inherited but not used yet. Maybe I am also named after the song, it could be true, I am happy to believe it is true.
Both are true, neither are true. Infinite beginnings can explain how I came to this exact point of time; NOW.
I am the part of the tree between the roots and the branches.
Is my name Stranger?
Hello Stranger.
How does that sound? Good?
Were we strangers to ourselves? Would you recognise yourself 10, 20 years ago? Would you like who you met if you went back? Or how about 20 years into the future? Who will you be, how will you have changed? Hello Stranger. What lies we tell ourselves and others about who we are, who we were, who we will be. That’s ok. What does it matter?
