The way Herod liked to listen to John the Baptist, summoning him from his cell for private chats but could make no sense of what he said; the way Festus kept the apostle Paul locked up for two years because he enjoyed hearing him talk, although his words made him afraid; the way the German guards, terrified by night bombings, sought out Pastor Bonhoeffer, even though he was, by his own account, a provider of cold comfort, writing to a friend, “I can listen all right, but hardly ever find anything to say. Yet perhaps the way one asks about some things and is silent about others helps suggest what really matters”—did not stop the sharp rap on the prison door or the words “get ready to come with us” as if for one more quiet conversation about what really matters.
You do not need me to bless you for the shorn field easily gives up its treasure into your baskets. Your quick fingers conjure food out of early morning mist, and in this light even the dumpster gives up its chipped vase, its clawfoot end table. The sidewalk gives up its clear brown bottle. You do not need me to bless you but I will anyway wish you clear sight into the world’s crevices and corners. Harvest the chives flowering under the workbench. Harvest the copper tubing looped in the scrap pile, the chrome fendered bicycle at the sidewalk sale. Clamp the broken slats of the chair together. Restring the guitar. And let your metal detectors whine always with joy. May you find all you seek, because at the end of the story the woman knots up her apron heavy with grain, then steals up to the sleeping body of the man who does not yet love her. And when she lies down next to him she will gather even the scent of his sleep— the smell of all future harvests, ripening.
An old Senegalese proverb says, “An elder who dies is like a library that burns.” This belief is at the heart of the small but moving independent film Goodbye Solo, directed and co-written by Ramin Bahrani. It’s also the conviction that drives the main character, Solo (Souléymane Sy Savané), an upbeat Senegalese immigrant to the U.S.
On the back of the MBTA bus An ad for Devil Dogs complete With photos of “vanilla-flavored Crème sandwiched between two Fun-shaped Devil’s Food cakes” Exclaims “Yes please!” urging us To “listen to our cravings” which is To say consume whatever we imagine Might fill the hungry ghost of fear That dwells in each of us living In this land of plenty where more is Never quite enough: but what if Craving became longing for something Of another order, and what if we instead Said “Yes” to prisoners, lepers, refugees, And what if we might someday learn To let this moment be enough, This naked twig, this autumn sky, This bird in flight, this drifting leaf.