Six Miles from Graceland

We came into Memphis on a rain-scattered evening; setting up to discover we were only six miles from Graceland.

Almost there. Sleeping in the shadow of Elvis tonight.

We started at seven this morning, and traveled singing along with Graceland, Walking in Memphis, and a slew of Elvis songs. We've called it a pilgrimage, in the spirit of Paul Simon, and a little reflection makes me realize how pivotal his song was in bringing me here.

When Elvis died, the sensational aspects of his life overwhelmed the art. For so long he was a joke, simply fat Elvis, who died unpoetically.

But Paul Simon, in the leavings of a dying marriage, felt compelled to visit Graceland, the center of everything lurid and tacky about Elvis, and turned it into a spiritual journey. Suddenly Graceland had a deeper meaning.

Was the meaning there all along, or did Paul Simon impart a meaning where previously there was none?

Or is meaning simply where we decide to find it?

Ever since 1986 I have wanted to visit Graceland. Twenty some years have gone by, in which I've learned to see the sublime in the trivial, and the sacred in the profane. And now tomorrow I walk up to Graceland at last.

Is it too much to hope for a spiritual moment, a fleeting touch of the grace and forgiveness we crave?

Well then how about a shot glass?

Long live the King...