Taking A Walk #9

[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!

Melanie Faith

Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.

Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.

The Society of Professional Journalists

In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.

I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.

Maxine Greene

Philosopher and Education Scholar

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Walking with John Prine during Derby Week

If I can make myself laugh about something that I should be crying about, that’s pretty good. — John Prine

It feels good to laugh. At serious times, it is hard not to get paralyzed by seriousness. At grave times, it is hard not to dig our own graves of despair and heartache. At sad times, it is hard not to drown in our tears. I turn to the music of John Prine to help navigate hard times. I saw him perform “Paradise.” I saw Bonnie Raitt cover “Angel from Montgomery.” I heard Brandi Carlile pay tribute singing “I Remember Everything.” I played fiddle when I was little, so maybe his music reminds me of an essential self that knew joy and connection. I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, so maybe his music reminds me of my story, a high lonesome I understand. He signed his first record deal in 1971, the year I was born, so maybe his music reminds me of the arc of my life and my responsibility to make the world a more honest and poetic and compassionate and beautiful place each day.

I’ll be halfway to heaven with Paradise waitin’/ Just five miles away from wherever I am. — John Prine “Paradise“

What if paradise is not 5 miles away from wherever we are? What if paradise is inside us? I know in the midst of all that is to even contemplate we are living in paradise might be a bridge too far. Let me explain. Paradise can be created with the ease of a decision and loving action. Paradise can be created by paying attention and intentional breath. Just the thought that paradise is here and now brings tears to my eyes. Everything feels so heavy, thinking about paradise like that, letting that thought seep into my bones, feels soft and loving and reassuring.

I remember when I was taught that heaven is living in the presence of God. That makes sense to me when I think about awe and miracles and wonder and amazement and dreams. That makes sense to me when I am surrounded in the knowing that I am not alone, even in my saddest, darkest, lost moments. That makes sense when I feel the small quiet connections I make with my world.

I think of paradise like I think of heaven. Paradise is here. Paradise in the complexity and depth of home is here. Paradise in all the falling apart and coming together is here. Paradise in all its beauty and cruelty is here. Paradise in all its silence and noise is here. Paradise in all its creation and destruction is here. Paradise in all its cushion and wood is here. Paradise in all its roots and buds is here.

Here’s what I know for sure. I know we have to look for paradise to find it. I know we have to keep moving toward the hot in life’s hot and cold test to feel it. I know we have to open lots of doors and windows to let it breathe through us. I know we have to shed tears of all types to talk to it, in that way tears are the words of our spirits. I know for sure paradise does not have to stay five miles away.

We are the lonely all together/ All together we’re all alone. — John Prine’s “We Are the Lonely“

I am learning that chaos leads to loneliness. Chaos distracts and upends. Chaos disorients and confuses. Chaos tears and separates. That is exactly how it isolates. Once isolated, we are alone. Let me explain. I have never felt more alone than I feel in crowds. (That is how I understand the idea that we can be all alone together.) That being said, I love cities. Living in cities over many years, I know the way noise and anonymity can breed isolation. The exact measure of a city’s energy — its pulse and vibrance and flow — can be the exact cause of separation and loneliness. Too many stories makes it easy for stories to get lost. Too many songs makes it impossible to hear the music. Too many people make it easy to lose our breath. All that can happen anywhere as stories, songs, and people are vulnerable in a world that does not pay attention.

In that way, the chaos that permeates so much of life right now has left us all alone. Deeply divided by our inability to appreciate that our basic survival depends upon our desire and capacity to celebrate and protect our interdependence. We sink or swim together as people and planet. Loneliness as a factor of life declaring winners and losers, a right or wrong answer, pleasure is unimportant or wrong, or that there is only so much pie to go around. Loneliness results as we scramble to chase the myth of individualism. Loneliness results when we refuse to be still and know.

Being all together in our loneliness in a gift. In being together, we can see one another and find comfort in our stories. In being together, we can be the spark for one another to get, and keep, our fires going. In being together, our love multiplies. I know it works like that.

Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios — John Prine’s “Sam Stone“

I long for sweet songs.

Sweet songs are big love and big music. Sweet songs like children’s laughter. Sweet songs like a cat’s purr. Sweet songs like the song of a bee or frog or cricket or elephant or whale. Sweet songs like the voice of someone you love. Sweet songs like waves crashing. Sweet songs like clouds blowing. Sweet songs like a timer letting me know red velvet cupcakes are ready to be taken from the oven. Sweet songs like a steamboat calliope during Derby Week. Sweet songs like snow falling. Sweet songs like sunrise. Sweet songs like starlight. Sweet songs like kindness, forgiveness, vulnerability, and care. Sweet songs like curiosity, generosity, creativity, and honesty. Sweet songs like truth.

Is the question of how do we hear those sweet songs simply one of fixing our broken radios? I am not sure. What I know for sure is life is sweeter when we hear sweet songs. When we aren’t too busy or angry or anxious or afraid or alone to hear. When we are healthy enough to simply change the channel when the static and noise overwhelms. When we are soft and open and awake to hear it all. When the I am, not yet, as if, and why not dance to the music we hear.

Thanks for taking a walk with me and John.

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