Sometimes a time and place intersect in a way that is so special, so far beyond the boundaries of the prosaic, that the tiniest, most peripheral sliver of the Zeitgeist refracts the magic; a glow so golden that even as it begins to come to a close you realize that you have experienced something you never will again; that you may search the rest of your life, but nothing, nowhere, no-how, will ever approach it. A “music I heard with you was more than music” kind of thing….
Summers in Telluride have something akin to that quality, and this one is no exception. At the same time, from talking with friends, I’ve come to realize that I’m not alone among locals in sensing that something has gone very, very wrong in the world. I seem to hear a voice that whispers, “Enjoy it while you can, because these golden times may be among the last you’ll ever see.”
You don’t have to be St. Germaine, Nostradamus, or the Oracle at Hemis to gaze into the future and see trouble, trouble and more trouble; the signs smack you in the face.
A couple of summers ago, as our nation fought a war to seize still more of the Earth’s oil and gas, monstrous and obscene “recreational vehicles” of unprecedented bulk and grossness began to appear on our roads; as long as your average suburban house is wide, inevitably towing a super-sized SUV, ideally a Humvee, and sometimes a matching trailer packed with even more possessions, they were almost always driven by elderly couples with poison eyes and mean, snapping-turtle mouths, the kind who for no explicable reason speed up when you try to pass them and think that Jesus was a Free Market Social Darwinist with pink skin, brown hair, blue eyes and a button nose. Favorite bumper stickers included “BUSH-CHENEY,” “WE’RE SPENDING OUR GRANDCHILDREN’S INHERITANCE” and, later, “MCCAIN-PALIN.”
How many gallons per mile do these hideous saurians devour? Draw a line straight from these rolling sarcophagi to “Shock and Awe,” and keep on going, to today’s hole in the ocean that’s draining the life out of Life itself, every second, every minute of every day this summer. That thick black lethal ooze that’s killing the sea, that and the mad mindless greed and hatred of all that’s important and true that lies behind it, that won’t stop till it’s killed all of our golden summers to come. Once we had dreamers, shamans and
singers to set us right, to point the way, but now the dreamers are gone, where no one knows, and we’re left in thrall to idiot kings and howling priests. Straight out of an asylum, they run the show, and during their reign there’ll be no magical ages, only fading memories, fast forgotten.