The answer, my friends, is “yes.” I’m not going to spill a lot of digital ink here. If you say “yes” too much, you probably already know it. You know the reasons to stop. You know what everyone says about self-care. You worry about going too far in the new direction and becoming selfish. You know who you are and you know to take time to think about why you can’t say “no” and how to get a handle on it.
If you never say yes, and if that’s because you’re a selfish jerk, I’m not talking about you.
Most beautiful souls say “yes” too much. So knock it off a little.
I have a theological degree, but that’s not what this post is about. And we can’t reduce what Buber is saying to a single line, however pithy. But it does remind me of Brautigan’s beautiful “I Was Trying to Describe You To Someone.” They’re sort of saying the same thing.
“When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them.” Martin Buber
For me, I’d have to say it’s the near-constant rejection. Or maybe the discourse on the platform formerly known as Twitter.
Ha ha.
Seriously, though. Writing is its own reward. The process. Figuring things out, creating a voice or a tone or a character. Describing something with images and meter. Using creative neuro-pathways. All of it.
53 years ago today, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young recorded “Ohio,” Neil Young’s response to the Kent State killings 18 days prior. It seems almost quaint, the idea that a mass shooting would spark this kind of visceral reaction.
We’re told, often, that everyday citizens need AR-15s and the like for self defense and that they’re especially needed in case the government starts doing things we don’t like. We’re told this, often, by the same people who uncritically support every single action the military industrial complex takes at home or abroad. We’re told this, often, by the kind of people who probably thought what happened at Kent State “should have been done long ago.”
Gotta get down to it Soldiers are cutting us down Should have been done long ago What if you knew her and Found her dead on the ground? How can you run when you know?
I was born ten years after Kent State and graduated high school the year before Columbine. The assault weapons ban passed when I was in eighth grade and expired when I was in my 20s.
I asked Canva Magic Write (basically, a marketing AI) to tell me if mass shootings increased since the ban expired. Here’s the pathetic response:
So I Googled it. Here’s a pretty clear answer from, appropriately, the Ohio Capital Journal. Decide for yourself.
I’m not saying anything close to “let’s repeal the Second Amendment.” But we can’t keep running. 53 years ago, the “soldiers cutting us down” were 28 members of the Ohio National Guard who shot 67 rounds into a crowd of unarmed students in 13 seconds. So too, the massacre’s apologists. Today, the people cutting us down are deranged lunatics with easy access to the weapons of war. So too, lobbyists; so too politicians. So too anyone who bemoans (the very real) mental health crisis in this country and then shoots down any attempts at comprehensive healthcare reform, slashes budgets to earn gold star ratings from think thanks, claims falsely that creating a continuum of real care is more costly than letting these things trickle down in the streets, at workplaces, at schools.
What if you knew her and Found her dead on the ground? How can you run when you know?
Selected tracks from my Wicked Game playlist, which is basically the songs I fell asleep listening to on adult contemporary radio circa 1989 – 1991. Some songs are older than that, but were still in rotation when I was 9, 10, 11.
Alone – Heart: They were perfect in the 70s. They were perfect in the 80s and 90s. They are perfect now. The way Ann delivers “Till now…” gives me chills. I know the Wilsons didn’t write this song, but Ann perfectly interprets and embodies it. Great, measured production ensures that the opening musical phrase actually evokes the lyric:
Chris Cocca 