I must pause, then, in my rambling and wonder just what kind of impression this city leaves upon us. It surely changes one. For, I now embrace the essence of it whereas I once resisted it. There was a time when I denied any affinity to it however, now…well, I love this city. And though it is a hurricane on the heart, it has its seasons of calm, subtle blooming. It is not without its stunning beauty. I find myself defending my city, its complex demographic, its grit and glory. Flipping through the images of Los Angeles cached in my mind, those horrible images of desperation juxtaposed with those images of the city that gently take your breath away and send you soaring, I can only turn them over and over, lovingly glimpsing the light in each. Thus, I am left musing…without any real answers to the questions I hold…
Do these images and experiences brought to us by this city make us inured? Do they callous over our hearts making us impervious to shock or shame? Or do these still pictures that make up the story of our lives vault us into acceptance, into a tolerance lined with a deeper wisdom and understanding of human nature? Is this city our destroyer, our maker or both? The only solid ground I can feel under the foot of my thoughts about Los Angeles is that it is a place in a time that makes those of us who truly call it home…different.
