I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream.
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream.
Ah, child of countless trees.
Ah, child of boundless seas.
What you are, what you're meant to be.
Speaks his name, though you were born to me..."
In early 2008, I visited Daniel Kottke at his home in Palo Alto, California. He is a computer engineering friend who happens to play piano and is a huge fan of the Grateful Dead, so we went through a bunch of songs just singing and having a great time. He shared with me that he'd occasionally hang out with poet, writer, former Grateful Dead lyricist, and co-founder of the Electronic Frontier Foundation, John Perry Barlow. Barlow would come over and he'd play Dead songs on his piano while singing and picking Barlow's brain about specific song lyrics or stories behind songs. Of course, to someone like me who loves singing Dead tunes, what Daniel told me was an absolute dream come true.
A year later, on Saturday, September 26, 2009, my good friend, Fürgen and I attended the Horizons: Perspectives on Psychedelics Conference, which was being hosted by our friend, Neal, held at the Lombardo-Romanesque style Judson Memorial Church in New York City. The church is situated near NYU and across from Washington Square Park, a park famous for its 77-foot tall marble arch constructed, originally, in wood and plaster to celebrate the centennial of George Washington's inauguration. It's a lively place where people go to play chess, feed squirrels, perform art and music, teach their kids to ride bikes, read by the fountains, and so much more.
While standing near the large pillars toward the right front side of the church, I saw a figure walk into the hall, kind of limping, wearing all black, and I could see the heel of a cowboy boot. The figure stood near a podium that had been near the rear center of the room. I squinted and knew right away, it was Barlow. I hurriedly skated over to him, trying not to look like I was running (my mind already engaged in a 40 yard dash), and not having any idea what I was going to say.
"Holy shit!" I said, as I realized how utterly embarrassed I was going to be after coming to terms with the fact that I lacked all verbal articulation, "It's YOU!" He looked a little surprised and said, "I guess it is!" I introduced myself and laughed as I segued into telling him we shared our friend Daniel in common. I guess he didn't believe me, because Daniel is a pretty famous figure, himself. And as all people with fame have, Daniel also has a lot of social media friends, so Barlow put me to task.
"Call him," Barlow looked me in the eyes and then down at my handbag to suggest I take out my phone.
"Really? You want me to call him? Okay," I took out my phone and dialed Daniel, "Daniel, I have a friend here who would like to say hi," I handed Barlow my phone and he chatted for about a minute, glancing up to smile at me as he did.
We stepped outside onto the rounded front steps of the church and sat down, alone. We sat, silently, and Barlow looked over his left shoulder and said, "You know, no one has ever greeted me that way before. Nope, not in my whole life have I ever been called, "Holy shit!" I roared with laughter and apologized for my crudeness, but sometimes, you just don't know what to say and all that comes out are the most simplistic of ridiculous utterances.
With a group of about 5 other people, Fürgen, Barlow, Neal, and I walked a few blocks to a friend's tiny studio apartment that housed a large, king-sized bed in the middle of the room, a couple of chairs, and a kitchen. Most of us sat around the perimeter of the bed with Barlow to my back.
While our host was in the kitchen with a friend, the mood was kind of stale, no one was talking because we were all in the presence of a God. It was painfully obvious that they were silently clamoring not to bore Barlow to tears. One man, tall and lanky, wearing a grey, button-down shirt, scarf around his neck, and brown trousers stood, looming over all who were seated, "Why don't we recite some poetry!" he declared.
Everyone thought it was a good idea, even Barlow. I was all about it, after all, I had some poems up my sleeve that I could share. I worried that I didn't have many of my works memorized and might mess up the one shot I had at redemption. I was also thinking how this guy really wanted to impress Barlow and how silly and pretentious it was to just assume that everyone had poetry to share from memory. "I'll begin," the man said,"This is a poem by Walt Whitman."
My mouth dropped open as, one by one, people recited other people's poetry. "What the fuck is this," I thought, "These people are kidding, right?" I kept quiet as four people recited works by famous poets, as Barlow leaned farther and farther back on the bed, being visibly lulled to sleep.
So, when the last person finished, I waited for silence and said, "I have a poem I'd like to recite, but it's something I wrote." Barlow sat up. "It's called 'Oh! Albatross' and is a poem I wrote in college when I was an angsty kid. Let's see if I can remember it..." With a bit of dramatic flare and a little bit of nervousness, I spoke:
"Here I am
In a world, crumpled-up
like an old piece of crumb-infested
cellophane
that will soon fall to its
demise
amongst all the forbearing rubbish;
Then I,
that useless bit of cellophane
will be thrown onto the curb
where the thieving ants will come
and scavenge through my few remains;
I will have no choice
but to surrender to their
military ways;
An ultimatum--
Join the Ranks of the Stronghold
or be ripped and torn
into a million
nameless
pieces
to which all that I am is
no more."
A couple of people clapped and the room erupted in conversation. I was facing a wall as I sat on the bed and I relaxed my posture to kind of slump down, shaking my nerves away. At that moment, Barlow laid back, stretching his neck out to me and said, "I really like your poetry, it's good, you're a good writer."
"Thank you," I nodded my head up and down, smiling. For a writer to get affirmation from someone who is like royalty that their work is "good", is just about the most satisfying and motivating word, ever. It's so simple, "Good." And for him to say that he liked it, well, I didn't need anyone else to give a compliment, ever again. He took that away that night, that insecurity that writers have, especially when sharing it with others to scrutinize, and he immediately put me at ease.
I am so grateful to have had such a beautiful interlude. You never know when someone might say something that changes your life for the better, forever.
Among his poems, J.P. wrote these rules to live by during his Saturn return, which would set his path for the next stage of his life. On August 15, 2013, Barlow participated in a Reddit AMA, where he shared his "Principles of Adult Behavior" that he'd written in 1977, the night before his 30th birthday:
- Be patient. No matter what.
- Don’t badmouth: Assign responsibility, not blame. Say nothing of another you wouldn’t say to him in the same language and tone of voice.
- Never assume the motives of others are, to them, less noble than yours are to you.
- Expand your sense of the possible.
- Don’t trouble yourself with matters you truly cannot change.
- Expect no more of anyone than you can deliver yourself.
- Tolerate ambiguity.
- Laugh at yourself frequently.
- Concern yourself with what is right rather than who is right.
- Never forget that, no matter how certain, you might be wrong.
- Give up blood sports.
- Remember that your life belongs to others as well. Don’t risk it frivolously.
- Never lie to anyone for any reason. (Lies of omission are sometimes exempt.)
- Learn the needs of those around you and respect them.
- Avoid the pursuit of happiness. Seek to define your mission and pursue that.
- Reduce your use of the first personal pronoun.
- Praise at least as often as you disparage.
- Admit your errors freely and soon.
- Become less suspicious of joy.
- Understand humility.
- Remember that love forgives everything.
- Foster dignity.
- Live memorably.
- Love yourself.
- Endure.
John Perry Barlow
Born October 3, 1947
Lived fabulously and fully
February 7, 2018
Rest in Peace
Fare thee well, now, let your life proceed by its own design,
There's nothing to tell, now, let the words be yours, I'm done with mine.
SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave
