World Traveled // Home’s Calling

The roads we pave, the lives we make and the voices we shape are the truth of our American people. And I say—now is the time for reformation. I welcome the coming elections of 2024. I suggest not that we struggle, not that we fight, not that we scheme or play our little games. I’d like to see us building, to hear us singing, to smell what’s cooking, to lay a hand on the steeds in passing and to partake in personal taste.

This isn’t politiking—this is how one gets to know the land. And once it’s known it can be loved.

Dipped into the stream of life and spirited enough to not mind that it’s cold the moment can be made good on rather than bad of or worse than it’s been. Yes, I am living in a dream—come along little doggies and take a nap with me. I speak of rejuvenation as rainfall from heaven above so that all the little flowers might bud.

Recall what I once was; grown without a song, panicked by being asked of, lonely beyond believing, powerless to all who passed me over, terrorized by the bullies, protected by the warrior souls and longing, always longing, of what the stories told.

For one day I shouldered the weight of anger, responsibility and confusion that overflows in this culture and after one day I emerged from that darkness into the light of the sun and felt blessed. I dropped to the ground and lay there soaking in it’s warm and kindly love. Oh, if only I worked outdoors. How strong would I become? For most it’s strange to think and terrible to consider but I’m at a point and place where I run beneath the desert sun, joyously.

So here Geoffrey sits in his spiritual solitude as an uninvited composer, watching closely, listening in, looking around and peeking over. He’s not necessarily interested in questioning. He wants to take note—that’s all and that’s it. It’s all too obvious why people like to keep things private. He’s not even a journalist. He’s stolen away to develop a voice and he’d hate if it went to waste. There was a time when he was too insular and the lessons were learned—sing not of war or hate, fighting or having, sing only of longing in that old American way.