Later, she came over for dinner. We had a conversation that reminded us of this Gary Snyder poem. We lamented the times we're living in, but we also regaled each other with the stories of the incredible cosmicity of the moment. We asked each other, when did you wake up and see the universe for what it is? We told the stories of our own awakenings to the biggest picture of all. How different they were, how much the same. Our eyes sparkled in the telling. In the moment on earth, wondering how we got here: in our skin, in our families, in our country, on this planet. Then we remembered now, the day and times, Ah America we could almost love you again.
So, I looked up Snyder's poem, googling American I could almost love you again. How wonderfully coincidental that Gary Snyder walked into the Maverick Bar. We have our own Maverick these days, and don't you forget it. Oh America...
I Went into the Maverick Bar
by Gary Snyder
I went into the Maverick Bar
In Farmington, New Mexico.
And drank double shots of bourbon
backed with beer.
My long hair was tucked up under a cap
I'd left the earring in the car.
Two cowboys did horseplay
by the pool tables,
A waitress asked us
where are you from?
a country-and-western band began to play
"We don't smoke Marijuana in Muskokie"
And with the next song,
a couple began to dance.
They held each other like in High School dances
in the fifties;
I recalled when I worked in the woods
and the bars of Madras, Oregon.
That short-haired joy and roughness--
America--your stupidity.
I could almost love you again.
We left--onto the freeway shoulders--
under the tough old stars--
In the shadow of bluffs
I came back to myself,
To the real work, to
"What is to be done."
(Poem borrowed without permission.)
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