Goals and Dreams:
Timeline: Roaming south along route 321 after performances in Columbia, SC
Subject: Burying Ghosts
What are the things that make us human? Depends on who you ask. Scientist might say that it is anything from our opposable thumbs to our ability to reason. But what do those suckers know? They used to prescribe cigarettes. Theologist might call it a soul, a spirit something divine imparted to us from God. Can’t and don’t want to argue with that. Philosophers would cite the very asking of this question as proof that we are “above” the other animals of this planet. You ask me…I don’t know. One of those things, I believe, that does make us human is our memories. More importantly how we interpret and act because of them. Do animals regret passed mistakes, at least the ones they survive through? (I knew I shouldn’t have drunk from that watering hole! Damn alligator nearly bit my nose off) or lust for lovers who rejected or ate them? (“She said she wanted some head but this is…” thought the praying mantis to himself before he couldn’t think anymore) Do animals write poetry? Speaking of poetry a poem read in the movie G.I. Jane about an animal. I paraphrase:
I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself
I have seen a bird fall frozen dead from a bow
Without ever once having felt sorry for itself
Ever feel sorry for yourself? Ever regret or lust? Ever wish or miss? When I began this trip I knew that it was more than a poetry tour. It was a search. A journey whose purpose was and is the journey itself. A cathartic journey meant to do many things one of which is to lay some ghosts to rest. What ghosts? Would be the next logical question. Well not everything is for the eyes and thoughts of others. Let’s just say that not everything happens in the T.V. show formula of buildup, event, quick resolution and fairytale conclusion. That loss does lessen over time but neither loss nor time give a damn about length. I went to bury a ghost, some ghosts, in that small town I moved to from the big city. Unlike the valiant bird on the bow above I felt sorry for myself and needed to. I regretted, missed, and even wished all to no avail. Eventually I moved on but don’t know if I really did.
Timeline: Roaming south along route 321 after performances in Columbia, SC
Subject: Burying Ghosts
What are the things that make us human? Depends on who you ask. Scientist might say that it is anything from our opposable thumbs to our ability to reason. But what do those suckers know? They used to prescribe cigarettes. Theologist might call it a soul, a spirit something divine imparted to us from God. Can’t and don’t want to argue with that. Philosophers would cite the very asking of this question as proof that we are “above” the other animals of this planet. You ask me…I don’t know. One of those things, I believe, that does make us human is our memories. More importantly how we interpret and act because of them. Do animals regret passed mistakes, at least the ones they survive through? (I knew I shouldn’t have drunk from that watering hole! Damn alligator nearly bit my nose off) or lust for lovers who rejected or ate them? (“She said she wanted some head but this is…” thought the praying mantis to himself before he couldn’t think anymore) Do animals write poetry? Speaking of poetry a poem read in the movie G.I. Jane about an animal. I paraphrase:
I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself
I have seen a bird fall frozen dead from a bow
Without ever once having felt sorry for itself
Ever feel sorry for yourself? Ever regret or lust? Ever wish or miss? When I began this trip I knew that it was more than a poetry tour. It was a search. A journey whose purpose was and is the journey itself. A cathartic journey meant to do many things one of which is to lay some ghosts to rest. What ghosts? Would be the next logical question. Well not everything is for the eyes and thoughts of others. Let’s just say that not everything happens in the T.V. show formula of buildup, event, quick resolution and fairytale conclusion. That loss does lessen over time but neither loss nor time give a damn about length. I went to bury a ghost, some ghosts, in that small town I moved to from the big city. Unlike the valiant bird on the bow above I felt sorry for myself and needed to. I regretted, missed, and even wished all to no avail. Eventually I moved on but don’t know if I really did.
2 comments:
May whatever haunts you and yours be buried proper, buried deep and stay asleep!
Jaycee
PS Love the pics!
I wonder if burying the things that "haunt" us is the goal? Inviting our ghosts or unreconciled longings, intentions, relationships, attachments, etc. to sit and chat for a spell could prove more useful. Maybe then we can find out why they have chosen to linger in the present and encourage them to find a place to rest. Simply, because there is no life force in the past. And then maybe with help from our angels, immortal and mortal, we can continue on in the land of the living. Great post!
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