(the piano on which John Lennon composed “Imagine”) Literati! All of you have seen my serious side, on display here on a regular basis. But did you know there is a rather flippant, irrelevant–oops!–irreverent side to me as well? As I prepare myself for adventures in poverty, I intend to post regularly in my blog …
(the piano on which John Lennon composed “Imagine”)
All of you have seen my serious side, on display here on a regular basis. But did you know there is a rather flippant, irrelevant–oops!–irreverent side to me as well?
As I prepare myself for adventures in poverty, I intend to post regularly in my blog about stuff that has little to do with writing contests, but everything to do with understanding ourselves, or at least, explaining ourselves to others. Isn’t that what writing really is?
When I post, I hope you will understand that it is an invitation for you to post your own comments in the little rectangular boxes under each post. We will continue to be apolitical- no Obama bashing or anything titillating about the former governor of Alaska, and nothing overtly religious. We remain an equal opportunity implorer.
So today, like many Americans, I am reading about immigration reform, and it occurs to me that each of us is a country unto ourselves. (No man is an island?–sounds literary) What policy do we self-enforce to disallow the immigration of new ideas unto our shores? What borders of intellect do we create to exclude most of the world?
Writing is all about inclusion.
An aside: For the first time in my adult life I am without a valid passport. I have several passports that ran out of room for stamps while overseas, and rather than issuing a new passport American consulates simply pressed in accordion pages. (One representative passport had 135 stamps, each indicating some transaction with immigration) But the intellect of each of us can permeate any border, and assume the identity (we call it empathy) of our fellow creatures on this planet, without needing the literal stamp of approval of some immigration officer at some checkpoint (peer pressure to conform to the conventional wisdom).
“This land is your land, this land is my land,from California, to the New York Island, from the redword-oops! –redwood forests, to the Gulf Stream waters, this land was made for you and me. ”
But who is you and me?
As child of privilege growing up (or growing sideways?) in Connecticut, we were taught this wonderful patriotic song. But censored out was the verse in this You tube video.
“There was a big high wall there, that tried to stop me. The sign was painted, said private property. But on the backside, it didn’t say nothin’…This land was made for you and me.”
So here is the whole, rambling point: Immigration reform gives us an opportunity to express the generosity of spirit that makes us uniquely America. It is not a democrat/republican thing.
Imagine…(you know the words)
I decided not to edit this blog. It is just a ramble. I’m piano tuning for my tour from the redwood forests, to the…