from "Democracy" by The Lumineers "...It's coming from the women and the men Oh baby, we'll be making love again We'll be going down so deep That the river's going to weep And the mountain's going to shout Amen! It's coming like the tidal flood Beneath the lunar sway Imperial, mysterious In amorous array Democracy is coming to the USA Sail on, sail on Oh mighty ship of state! To the shores of need Past the reefs of greed Through the squalls of hate Sail on, sail on, sail on... " Listen to the Lumineers sing the poem by Leonard Cohen here
Whether there was celebration, mourning, or perhaps defiant resistance, to your July 4th, I don’t know that it would be possible to let the day pass without an awareness of the ideals that built the celebratory desire. I want to celebrate those ideals, too, when they’re lived into. Yet, often I mourn how they’re more idea, or outdated, than reality. Much like the line from the wonderful Leonard Cohen poem above: “I'm sentimental, if you know what I mean. Oh, I love the country but I can't stand the scene. And I'm neither left or right, I'm just staying home tonight.” I feel like a walking canvas of colors with all my thoughts and emotions these days. Multi-hued emotions as colorful as a firework-covered sky, and thoughts that fire and burst one on top of the next. So, I’m spending some time each day taking my emotional temperature and trying to hold every thought up to the light for a more discerning vision.
Recently, I had a rare evening to sit with a special man, someone like a father to me. He’s 78 this year, fought and was badly wounded in Vietnam; has seen his country and family through waves that crash and waves that roll. He’s a storyteller and I love a story, so we sat and I listened as he reminisced until he stopped suddenly, reflective and quiet. “You know,” he spoke finally, “I hear people saying that things are worse now than ever.” I waited, silent in his pause. “I don’t think that’s true, though. There’s trouble, it’s true. But it’s not worse. In fact, I think a lot of things are a whole lot better.” We talked about this for a while longer, and when I rose to leave, my eyes were misty as I hugged him goodbye. I felt gifted by his longer arc.
I won’t offer my opinion of things these days, because my opinion shouldn’t matter to you. What should matter to you is your own array of colors and emotional temperature. How are you living into this time and the ideals that swell and sway?
And instead of opinions, I’ll paint you a summer picture: