Love’s offices are full. Much correspondence is flying back and forth in the old-fashioned way. Love’s offices are like a newsroom that Clark Kent frequented. Many personalities, each with so many agendas, and blackened at times with the angers of that house, our house, the world’s.
It’s a funny set of places, those offices of love. With so-called private offices that have glass walls and glass doors. People are flying in and out. Loose papers compete for space with bound stacks; both are in disheveled piles that look like San Francisco after the earthquake. Hopefully, nothing is burning except Perry White’s, cigar. That smell of smoke reminds us of what might well be a motto for anyl daily publication: “Time is burning.”
It’s impossible to set the ambience completely. Much is obscured. Cub reporters dare not show their hand; and even seasoned veterans like Lois and Lana must watch their step in this testosterone fueled jungle.
There is always the balance between what is proprietious and what is true. Hopefully, they intersect as often as possible. But in this sense our always-in-motion journalists are like gymnasts or ballerinas, on a knife’s edge of a cross bar; doing the dance and hoping no one falls. If anyone falls, it is a reminder that we all can. And best that the news does not originate in the newsroom.
Through it all, we are uplifted by the best agendas, the ones that seem to require us to go out of that factory of reality making. To explore a world even wilder than love’s offices. While still on a mission that love’s offices have assigned us.
Gather information, report on the emergencies, get the details, find the human interest. Most of all, find the human interest. As we do this routinely, almost reflexively, we take care not to grow cold. Our antidotes and armors for our warmth are the agendas we have brought along of our own. Agendas that predate our time and obligations to the offices of love. These are even dearer.
No wonder we are all looking for Superman. Even Clark Kent is looking, after all, he has dissimulations to keep up. It’s a noble task, really, looking for that one who can change the news for good. Who has the superpowers to bring the will of agency into that human interest which so often in real life ends in tears?
There are those looking for good news, like gold panners with a sieve in a stream, but as we know the offices of love are looking for heartbreak, not the simple daily bread of hands held together against the storm.
The news can’t get in between those hands, those are clasped together too tightly, fortunately, for anything other than the silent and wordless agreements of determined intimacy to be there in that less than paper thin space. swing those hands in unison, as they go forward into the night, with, or without, their beliefs in Superman. But probably with. Why not?
For his part, Clark Kent has many choices to make. He must pivot his identity concealment into action that is the most obviously public audience at a moment’s notice. After all, as much as we want to be a witness to the house fire, even more, we want to see someone put it out with a great puff of wind deep from within a powerful intention arising from the belly.
We all love the underdog story. It’s because so many of us are underdogs, swimming upstream either with or against the wild and reckless whitewater currents flowing out of love’s offices.
We are still looking for superman, even when the house burns, even when the now homeless occupants trudge into the night, and off the edge of the comic strip into somewhere unknown, somewhere we don’t want to know.
Somewhere there is a cub reporter willing to write that story. She or he may need to find a zine, or other trending form of communication to make it conspicuous. It is vital work to let us all know that Superman is as real as Santa Claus, inside each of us, waiting for the proper holiday, which could be any day, or ceremony, which could be any ceremony, to extend the generosity of courage to the world that needs it, never mind how love’s office decide to report it.