That was a wonderful supper, said Blurtso. Yes, said Harlan, it was. But it’s sad to think, said Blurtso, that everything we ate was once alive. Yes, said Harlan, that’s true. I suppose, said Blurtso, that everything that is ever alive is eventually eaten. Yes, said Harlan, it is. Harlan? said Blurtso. Yes? said Harlan. I hope whoever eats me is as nice as you. Thank you, said Harlan, I feel the same way.
Banana Pancakes – Jack Johnson
Blowing Away – Linda Ronstadt
Bookends – Paul Simon
America – Paul Simon
Brushfire Fairytales – Jack Johnson
Bubble Toes – Jack Johnson
Buckets of Rain – Bob Dylan
Don’ t Mess Around With Jim – Jim Croce
Fall Line – Jack Johnson
Feeling Groovy – Paul Simon
Fifty Ways To Leave Your Lover – Paul Simon
Forever – Ben Harper
F- Stop Blues – Jack Johnson
Gone – Jack Johnson
Homeward Bound – Paul Simon
I’d Rather Hurt Myself – Roger Miller
Leaving On A Jet Plane – John Denver
I Know Where I’m Going – Traditional
Johnny I Hardly Knew Ye – Traditional
Kathy’s Song – Paul Simon
Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
My Own Two Hands – Ben Harper
No Other Way – Jack Johnson
Girl From The North Country – Bob Dylan
One More Cup Of Coffee – Bob Dylan
Posters – Jack Johnson
Sara – Bob Dylan
Scarborough Fair – Traditional
Shelter From The Storm – Bob Dylan
Shenandoah – Traditional
Tenderness – Paul Simon
The Least You Could Do – Ben Harper
Times Like These – Jack Johnson
Traffic In The Sky – Jack Johnson
We Had It All – B.W. Stevenson
Better Together – Jack Johnson
You Can Close Your Eyes – James Taylor
Your Loving Arms – Hank Williams
Song For The Asking – Paul Simon
Congratulations – Paul Simon
Sarah Maria – James Taylor
Believe In Your Dreams – Rudolph and Clarice
Harlan? said Blurtso. Yes? said Harlan. Do you ever get frightened? Frightened? said Harlan. Yes, said Blurtso. Sometimes, said Harlan. Why? said Blurtso. Well, said Harlan, when you consider how fragile things are–life, love, happiness–and how they’re certain to vanish, and the nothingness that follows, it’s natural to be frightened… but you can still be optimistic. You can? said Blurtso. Sure, said Harlan, we still have a tin of chocolate, and plenty of whipped cream.
Hey, what’s this?
I wonder where it leads?
Maybe it leads to the center of the earth…
…and maybe I’ll learn something I could never learn
in the light of day, something without words
and without appearance….
something… that embraces and erases…
… me
A metal saw? I could bake one in a pumpkin pie…
What did I see
when I first stepped up
to Paris from the metro at Montmartre?
What moved
in the light among the shadows
in the columns of Saint Peter’s?
What whispered
in the light of Interlaken
when crossing the Brienzersee?
Why so many miles?
Why the discomfort
and tedious lines that thinned
until I was alone
on a rock shattering the Mediterranean?
Why so many conductors
recording the course of my name?
Why so much motion
when my hooves were content to remain slippered
and cuddled on the couch?
A donkey crossed a dirt road
behind a church in Segovia.
His hooves and snout
were the color of the land.
He was laden with stones,
and was completely content.
In Paris the sun
woke a jenny asleep
beneath a bridge on the Seine.
She was happy.
She had no place to go.
She stopped to ask questions
no one has time to ask.
She took me to see her friends
gathered on the bank,
and we laughed
and lamented the sadness of change.
From the gypsies in Venice
I expected to hear the same,
but they didn’t want to talk.
They offered to read my future,
and I offered to read theirs.
I wanted to see
how they all fit inside me.
I wanted to see
what my hooves had created
with different hopes and dreams.
I walked and I walked and I walked,
and did what the natives did.
I wonder what I have learned?
Was the answer spelled
in a pattern of bubbles
splashed on a sidewalk in Rome?
Was it whispered
in the song
of a fountain in Seville?
At times a voice will call.
It is an image or an echo
rising from a night in Namur,
lingering on a street in Siena,
or whistling in the wind at Cérbère.
And though I go home now,
a part of me still waits
at an interminable light in Madrid,
or continues in the rain,
stepping through the past
on the stones of Mycenae.
I suppose, thought Blurtso, this is what it’s like to become one with nature… I suppose this is what it’s like… to remember you are one with nature… I suppose this is what it’s like… not to think about what it’s like.
And they gathered before him and said, “Free us.”
And Blurtso replied, “You are free.”
And they remained where they were, freely.
I didn’t know you were Irish, said Pablo. Actually, said Bonny, I’m Irish, Scottish, Welsh, and English. My oldest ancestors arrived in the Isles around 400 B.C. and lived in all the various regions. I used to celebrate Saint Andrew’s Day on November 30th, Saint David’s Day on March 1st, and Saint George’s Day on April 23rd, but now I celebrate them all on Saint Patrick’s Day on March 17th. Does that mean you have to drink four times as much beer? said Blurtso.
“By yon bonny banks and by yon bonny brays…”
