I’m not sure how one could have gotten through my college without being a Grateful Dead listening vegetarian who would rather be in the woods than in the house. So, while I did manage that feat, it was a Pyhrric victory. In the years since I have developed a) a preference for being outdoors, b) vegetarianism, and c) fandom for the Dead. In that order. None of this would have happened if each of these did not have some utility in my life. “Changes me spiritually” counts in terms of utility.
When the Dude had his bike wreck, I like many began in disbelief. It was a knock on the head, some broken bones perhaps. Nothing like what had actually happened. Having been down the river of denial before, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that it was a matter of time before disbelief would be replaced with something much less fun to experience.
Days passed. Conditions did not improve. The reality of a horrible accident started to work its way in. I was sad and angry as I thought about his family. I was frightened that I had done all the same things he had done on days similar to the one of his accident. And I was scared he might never recover.
One a run during one of those days, my thoughts brooded as the tunes on my ipod shuffled. I was not immediately conscious of it having landed on that legendary show at Barton Hall, Cornell University, 1977. Somewhere my mind must have registered the ode to St. Stephen. What true son of the south does not like a good martyr?
Quickly, the beat changed. A song written by Waco’s Buddy Holly. Sure and steady, like the beat of a heart, the rhythm came into my brain. Following was a declaration: “I’m gonna tell you how it’s gonna be!” Exactly. Fear, anger, sadness to be sure. None of them needed to be denied or pushed to the side, but that’s not where I would live. Instead they would push me to call out. To say how it’s got to be. A love for real, not fade away.