Sunday. I'’m running around doing the necessities. I don'’t want to do anything. It hits me. I need another dose of dirt and sky. Plus, I know that there is an informal drumming circle on Sundays. I bag my duties and go back to the cornfield.
I get there and I can hear the music from the gate. Sounds all right to me so I make my way. When I get there, there were some a-percussional, hmmm, how can I say this?, rhythmically challenged beats being dispensed. It was primal then organized but then zoomed into the uncharted territory.
People were birthing free form music from non-professionals. There were men, women, and a kid from a cross section of Los Angeles. People were weaving in and out and pulling their own positive energies.
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Well as it happened, there was a person who was not happy. He said, That's it! This is too much! You'’re not listening to each other, you are loud, uncontrolled?
One guy asked, "“What did we do wrong?"” and tried to plead with him to stay.
He took his stuff and went home. Folks said, "Oh well" and continued to make music.
I stayed for a little while longer but I was mad again. Why can'’t humans accept things and people for what they are? We are not perfect. In this situation, we did not have to be.
Why couldn't he see the beauty of people who came together from all ethnic and racial groups to make music? I walked between the cornrows again. At a junction, this is what I saw:
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Yep. A perfect metaphor for what humans beings do to nature. We love nature, then we pave it, then foul it up, and keep it at a distance.
We have got to get back to the garden. Not totally back. I'’m not a Luddite. But we could cure a lot of ills if we could remember that we are a part of the earth and not the rulers of it.
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