“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”
Henry David Thoreau
Many of our people are leading these lives of quiet desperation, it isn’t the single domain of men, but a shared one that envelops women and children as well.
The desperation of poverty-the songs of our people passed on through countless generations are being replaced with the song of desperation.
Desperation of circumstance, of the tattered cloth tradition has become-the song of violence self directed and otherwise, of drugs, crime, gangs, abuse, lack of personal respect, and respect for others.
Our songs, our true songs, composed over millennia, are being sold and employed as an artifice to advance personal agendas-the result is that we as a people are no longer living lives that belong to us.
Thoreau commented that he went to the woods to live deliberately, to encounter and understand what is essential and hopefully learn something in the process.
What is essential for our lives and understanding has either been co opted, cast aside, suppressed, or no longer understood-in it’s place everything that is wrong, counterproductive, has found residence among us-and that can only increase the desperation leaving us to to mimic in lieu of understand-to perform rather than embrace.
A sense of obligation exists now in this day of the internet-a persona has been created and a burden to live up to it- videos to this end are routinely created and uploaded as though in doing so substance is given-that the definitions we seek for ourselves are to be found within them not withstanding the intent or the degree of accuracy, and another layer of desperation is added in what has become a competition for views and comments telling us that we have inspired and persevered.
This persona has more to do with public expectation than the reality of our lives, our desperation. It has more to do with being led than leading, even if only on a personal level.
We forget who we are, what we are, where we came from, and have little idea of where we are going- a vulnerability giving rise to celebrity liberators and patriots who would replace those things we know, the birth right, with their version.
A version designed to promote themselves and afford the opportunity to say this is MY sundance, MY ceremony, and as such “I” can barter, sell, corrupt, and abuse at MY discretion.
These are MY people, and as such “I” can barter, sell, corrupt, and abuse at MY discretion, and “I” can write new songs for them to sing.
When the time of the grave comes to each of us better if the song to be sung isn’t the one of desperation, but the song of our people-if we have forgotten it we are obliged to relearn the words, the essential nature of it.