The curtain climbs over me every morning I don㽶Ƶֱt know why I㽶Ƶֱm so immunized against reforming
I went to bed last night 㽶Ƶֱ unthinkingly 㽶Ƶֱ in my Tragically Hip T-shirt. Sky blue with a bold 㽶ƵֱH㽶Ƶֱ and 㽶ƵֱP㽶Ƶֱ framing a silhouette of Gord Downie in an iconic pose standing in place of the 㽶ƵֱI.㽶Ƶֱ
I awoke to , undoubtedly pre-prepared months ago, expected, but no less hard to read: Downie was gone.
Conventional journalism directs me to backfill here; to recount his brave battle with inoperable brain cancer and the definitive Canadianness that defined his band.
I refuse. You don㽶Ƶֱt need it. I don㽶Ƶֱt want it. I want to write about words. About my fascination with them. About my awe at the way Gord could sculpt them into constructions of great and terrible and at times indecipherable beauty. About my ineffectual struggle at this moment to forge them into something that does justice to his gift.
The highest and best use of words is to connect, inspire and understand. As cynical as most are about journalists, that remains the reason why I, and so many of my peers, got into this business. Gord worked that, lived it, on a higher level.
We don㽶Ƶֱt go anywhere
Just on trips
We haven㽶Ƶֱt seen a thing
We still don㽶Ƶֱt know where it is
It㽶Ƶֱs a safe mistake
A wise man once said 㽶Ƶֱwhen the sunlight hits the olive oil don㽶Ƶֱt hesitate.㽶Ƶֱ Gord spoke about art and truth and life and how they intertwine and how their pursuit gives one both perspective and purpose. We㽶Ƶֱre all given the ability to discern right from wrong; to know what㽶Ƶֱs important and what is not. We㽶Ƶֱre all given tools and opportunities with which we can learn, grow, understand 㽶Ƶֱ make the world a little bit better. But too often, most of us remain in the car, driving where we are told to go, experiencing what we are told to experience, expecting the expected, seeking out that which reinforces our biases instead of challenging them.
Gord㽶Ƶֱs work urged us to plunge in deeper than what the tour guide would suggest, to take roads less travelled and listen to voices seldom heard.
All with the too-often lonely goal of creating community.
The surface is green and the dark interweaves
In a lonely iridescence
It㽶Ƶֱs terribly deep and the cold is complete
And it only lacks your presence and nothing else
One of the most enduring tenets of the Hip gospel is that they are a uniquely Canadian treasure, that other countries simply 㽶Ƶֱdon㽶Ƶֱt get.㽶Ƶֱ I㽶Ƶֱve always wondered why. Sure Gord spoke in cultural idioms like Clayoquot Sound and Bobby Orr largely unique to Canada, but the underlying themes of Carpe Diem and empathy were universal.
Life is a privilege. It㽶Ƶֱs not about getting the T-shirt. It㽶Ƶֱs about making your life your own iconic pose.
Step out of your world container. Make this world a better place.
My balloons may be filled with rain right now, but the inspiration of this poet need never fade.
Said, 㽶Ƶֱain㽶Ƶֱt life a grand and I㽶Ƶֱm in awe of y㽶Ƶֱall㽶Ƶֱ
I㽶Ƶֱve dropped into my haunted bunk
Been to your touchless times out where the water㽶Ƶֱs drying
Been past the 㽶ƵֱNo Attractions Past This Point㽶Ƶֱ sign
What we have here are all flaws in progress
Where all songs are one song and that song is Don㽶Ƶֱt Forget
» John McKinley writes for Reach him at editor@vifreedaily.com