this is a favorite piece from the camerado series by walt whitman.
I do not offer the old smooth prizes,
But offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is called riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve.
However sweet the laid-up stores,
However convenient the dwellings,
You shall not remain there.
However sheltered the port,
And however calm the waters,
You shall not anchor there.
However welcome the hospitality that welcomes you
You are permitted to receive it but a little while
Afoot and lighthearted, take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before you,
The long brown path before you,
leading wherever you choose.
Say only to one another:
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law:
Will you give me yourself?
Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
——————
all my life, these are the thoughts and words i’ve given to everyone i met. i suppose i’ve been entirely too optimistic to think it possible they could simply be received as truth, treated as such… that, in any moment, the only thing that ever makes such impossible is the disbelief, distrust, suspicion, fear, and reticence that accompanies such things.
now and again, i meet someone who restores my belief in this as true. as the truest thing that is, that could ever be.
i admit, it has been a very long time indeed since that cup has been replenished. but it is replenished in this moment.
i smile for it — all exsultare fenix, jubilant cry to sunrise, ‘ah HA! there! see! it is! it can be! i was right to believe!’
quite a bit more than this, actually… the temptation to ramble at length is strong. but i find it a frustration past the most basic of efforts… the words get in the way.
it is not a thing best demonstrated in words. alas. but a smile, a touch, a kiss, a hug, the presence and warmth that permeates and pulses… the soft, lush beating of a contented heart… the sigh that rises, frequencies of peace given as offerings to infinity.
words simply do not suffice. alas. alas. oh alas, camerado… for i would laud you, lay sweetest things by the idea of you – that which is nowhere and yet, everywhere, hiding and in plain sight.