I am happy here – at home. I feel the presence of this place,
& appreciate the trail for what it is: a human element of the landscape – utilitarian,
precise – yet still a part of this natural world, not really getting in the
way.
…The power lines above are also linear & bold, & also
hint at something different on the scene – but they are not so innocent. Tracing
them, the eye looks down the mountain to a large brick building, & then a
town: houses, cars, a campus, electric plants with smokestacks rising up…
I came here on a poetry gig for the University, where, at
the same time (as chance would have it) the Republican National Debate is being
held later today. Here, among the birds & trees, I can imagine very few
things that would make me more embarrassed to be human.
As I reach the top of the hill, the sky grows lighter around
the edges. Another few steps along the path, & suddenly a small deer bounds
across the thicket. Soon another follows, bouncing over in the same way. Then
with utmost dignity they walk on; I watch them silently until they meet a third
(their mother, maybe?) who joins them.
It’s not much further that I find it, & stop in my
tracks. A little altar on a tree stump, a delicate arrangement of stones &
things from the forest floor: sticks & leaves & pine cones, all placed
exquisitely – a simple yet detailed work of art only a human could have made. I
catch my breath, astonished at the beauty of the thing – this bit of magic beside
the path, within the woods, an act of clear communication, a place to pray, to
hold my thoughts & feelings…
Kneeling at the altar, I acknowledge the directions, &
bow to the creativity that flows through everything…
After a while, I take my phone out of my pocket to take a
picture, giving thanks as I do for the camera phone, this remarkable piece of ingenuity
only a human could have made.
That’s when I realize I am writing this poem, & asking: What
is human?
When was the last time you flew in an airplane, miles high in
a 75 ton piece of metal? Only a human would do that.
Boarding in Denver, the line stops just as I’m about to step
on. I breathe in, deep, waiting, visualizing a blue shield around the aircraft.
Finally, I step onto it, exhaling… only a human would do that, too.
Looking out the window as the plane takes off, I think about
the planet as a single entity. & as the plane rises higher over the land, I
feel the presence of more & more people – the horizon expands – & I
imagine all of them becoming part of the earth again…
& then the ribbons of clouds, like ripples in sand, stretching
out as far as the eye can see—
The stewardess asks if I need some more hot water for my tea.
She’s kind; she helped me find a place to stash my guitar when I got on. She has
long white hair and blue eyes that make me feel like she cares about me.
I want to live in a world where we acknowledge the
sacredness of every interaction with another human being.
Funny – I actually have some of the most vulnerable moments
with strangers at airports – when I play music. Airports can be such oppressive
places, where everyone rushes & no one smiles, where there are thousands of
people but no signs of humanity. So I try my best to bring some soul into the
place by singing, & people seem to feel it. Usually some folks even come up
to throw a dollar in my guitar case.
Today, the first guy who gave came over with a look of
sincere concern as he dug in his pocket. I was just finishing up my first
number, “This land is your land,” faking my way through the harmonica parts but
playing with as much damned earnestness as I could muster – really feeling it –
& no one had donated yet. He threw in whatever he found in his pocket,
& without looking at it I said “thank you,” & meant it. He looked at me
& said “Good luck” with an apologetic expression, then walked away. I
looked down at a dime, a couple of pennies, & a button.
And then the next person gave me a twenty.
Tell the truth – I think the most powerful person in a room is
the one with a guitar. I’m convinced it’s the best weapon in this war – that’s
why I’m training in it, you see. Music is like kryptonite to apathy. As far as
the ruling class is concerned, there’s nothing more dangerous than song, poetry,
stories, art, and eye contact, because these are things that make us remember
our magic – that is – our humanity.
& this, my friends, is what will save the world.
