Deciduous Man of History Stories We Can Tell

"Deciduous Man..." Thanks, Shane Bullard for a little inspiration on this one. A few years ago, Shane was playing some good tunes here on social media...just strumming his 6-string and singing some great old country songs. I haven’t heard much from him in a while. I sure hope he starts playing again. For now, he sits and thinks about the fight. The good fight. Emerging slowly from a darkness That got hold of him last night. Oh, whether you’re a man of means or measure, Or just a wolf in black sheep’s clothing.How pathetic to be stuck there In self-pity and self-loathing. And what we’re falling for.But he rallies. Gazing out upon the Flag, he sings a line or two from Hag— "Today I started loving you again. And I’m right back where I’ve really always been…" His mind goes walking, across the Edmund Pettus bridge, Walking on the moon. Walking into death in Normandy that June. Through dust and fires, Across rivers running red with blood. Down deep, the music plays, Bad news on the doorstep, Bud. His faith returns against all reason. In spite of, in the face of, because of, and for the grace of, everything that’s happened. Despite the wrecking force of greedAnd the weight of sorriness gone to seed,He still believes in goodness, though.Honor, strength, and courage—And other stuff, you know.In those who swim against the stream,Who refuse to think alike,Alice Paul and Lucy Burns waging hunger strikes. Woody Guthrie fighting fascists with two chords on his guitar.Samuel Clemens sitting, Cooly smoking a cigar While birthing Huckleberry Finn.Jefferson writes the Declaration while he plays the violin,John Coltrane and Einstein were probably there to hear it—Living out the mystery of the cosmos, The science and the Holy Spirit.And there’s more.Let him tell you about Austin and the Bakersfield sound, And half a million on a farm, outside a little New York town, Giving peace a chance.Tell me, what’s the matter with a bit of song and dance? In the mud, Dave.Jump in the mud.But then here comes the blues, trying to pull us underWith all the dark and somber news of pillaging and plunder.History talk— Of railroads and boomtownsAnd gold and silver riches foundFrom Comstock in NevadaAnd the Black Hills of Dakota—No more buffalo, James, no Lakota.And never mind the sixty bucks he paid to fill up on the way,He rails against the offshore rigsAnd spills in Prudhoe Bay.Now, we fight the Keystone lineAcross the Plains, today.The question comes, though not the first, Not about the vain attempts to curb our thirst, Just “Hey, what’s the use of knowing all the worst?”“I don’t know,” he just may say,And he probably doesn’t know.He’s not the lion anymore, But that won’t stop the preaching, just listen to him roarWhen he speaks of schemes of thugs and parliaments of whores.He can’t forget old Howard ZinnWho talked about the mortal sin,Of going along to get along, Giving up and giving in.The world has suffered most,Not from chasing Don Quixote’s ghost, Not from deviance and defiance, But from unresisting, unthinking, obedience and compliance.Gazing out again upon the Flag, he hears those favorite lines from Hag,And he’s right back where he’s really always been…In spite of, in the face of,Because of, and for the grace ofEverything that’s happened. Everything we’ve done.At the end of the day, he’s headed home to his sweet dogs.The river on the left is calm and clear, there is no fog,He can see all the way across.Greeted at the kitchen door,By the Shepherd and the Labrador—Joyful and hungry. He feeds them well and then himself.And leaves the Irish on the shelf.He makes a cup of teaAnd sips it slow.Accompanied by birdsong, To Kristofferson’s devil, singing low,A line from a song a brother taught him fifty years ago.“I don’t believe that no one wants to know.”Gone, for now, is whatever got hold of him last night.His faith returns against all reason.A greater fool for any s