O Captain! My Captain!

Stand on the desk. Say your verse. Live it.

An empty school desk

Boy, it’s been a hot minute. I’ve been wrapped up in my new gig so much that three months vanished in the blink of an eye. Things are going well, and I’m thankful for it.

There have been numerous changes in our family this year. The big one was becoming empty-nesters. Both of our children are now college students, and my partner and I still haven’t fully come to grips with it. We miss them, but they seem to be thriving so far, a testament, hopefully, to us raising some good humans.

Right before my youngest went to college, we watched Dead Poets Society together. I’ve watched it a few times over the years, but it was his first time watching it start to finish. He told me he’d seen parts of it in high school but never paid attention; this time, he was rapt.

I first watched this movie in theaters sometime in 1989, the year I graduated high school. I remember myself back then, young, foolish, but with such an open heart toward the future. Today I’m older, still somewhat foolish, and I try hard to keep an open heart.

If you’ve ever seen the movie, you’ll remember this famous line:

“We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?’ Answer. That you are here—that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”

That scene left an indelible mark on my soul. I often think about the meaning it holds and ask myself what my verse will be.

Yes, what is my verse, or rather, I should ask you, my reader: what is your verse?

Is your verse one of joy? Of love? Or is it one of divisiveness and hate?

In today’s world of social media, violence, and utter disdain for one another, I wonder if the verses we write about our fellow humans are being written in blood.

I believe that people of kindness and compassion must become like immovable mountains or rocky shores upon which the insanity of our society will dash itself. We’re losing our humanity as our country flirts with a failing democracy.

Love, beauty, and passion need to rise above the fray. We must become like the poets and artists of yore, seeing what the masses don’t see and paving the way for a better world. Now more than ever, our verses need to be written and heard.

Nietzsche wrote in Human, All Too Human, about the resurrection of our spirit:

On its political sickbed, a people usually regenerates itself and finds its spirit again, which had been lost gradually in the seeking and claiming of power. Culture owes its highest achievements to politically weakened times.

Every one of us owes it to each other to resurrect our collective spirit.

So here’s my verse: stubborn kindness, inconvenient compassion, and the courage to build a better world.

I’m looking forward to what your verse will be.