Gator wrote and copy-wrote a song decades ago when he thought the world was his burger to devour (with fries) and songwriting and performing were his reptilian destiny.
Only the title of the song now makes perfect sense in the situation our planet has landed onto. We are indeed dancing about. Whizzing down the road, against all declarations of our leaders. Going somewhere, anywhere, just to once again be free to go somewhere. It doesn’t work.
Coming home to safety without the plague hitchhiking on us, we do the usual things. Make supper, get the parlor stove laid in and lit. Do the family business out in the shop, get ready for planting and work at one of the few shops down the road a bit deemed necessary by the government. What? We cannot gather with our new friends and worship the living God?
We cannot, we cannot, we should not. We are in danger, we are all in danger under a death threat as is the whole planet. Inconceivable! But we accede and say, As you wish. I feel so much disconnect with almost everyone on the planet except a handful or so. The imposed oddness, the imprisonment before imminent execution as we read about in scripture and history. The comfort of my cell, even driving in our car, I feel as distant as I feel the shrug of being rapidly passed. Don’t look at me, don’t get close to me. Don’t don’t don’t. Please wear a disguise around your face for I know you fear me as I fear you.
Shop till you drop dead and we’ll send the wooden cart for you. Wear the white or yellow or blue mask, it won’t help. It lets you feel how I feel about you.
With due reverence, but very plainly, let it be said that God can do nothing for the man with shut hand and shut life. There must be an open hand and heart and life through which God can give what He longs to. An open life, an open hand, open upward, is the pipe line of communication between the heart of God and this poor be-fooled old world. 1
I am stretching out, looking fondly upon memories of freedom I fought for in the military. My leaders are many and none of them make any sense to me. It is a dream almost forgotten as I stumble in the dark at 1 in the morning to the bathroom. Walk back to bed and actually try to remember the power and lack of it in my dream. It’s gone with a few remembered scenes. A mission of sorts, confusion and almost palpable in my ‘real’ life.
The blue pill or the red pill. Got to remember at least to take my pills in the morning. I look upon my desk when I awaken again and cast my eyes upon books, journals and the book with all the answers if I would just open it and read. Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong, we are weak but He is strong.
It’s pretty good, Jack Gator
- S.D Gordon 1859-1936