He said to them in effect:

“That’s Fine.  You made your point.  The thing is I can go home, you have to live with each other when I leave.”

Yes, they had been living in that same land for nigh 400 years:  Fighting.

How was it working for them?

Not        very        well.

Both sides could protest the appointment of George as mediator, walk out with big fan fare.  Heck, they could strut like battling Peacocks for another 400 years  — pride a’ struting.  Not listening and talking over each other.  Power parading and violent protesting.  George would just go home, where he belongs, back to America —  just as my namesake ancestor had done about 300 years ago.

What goes up must come down
Spinnin’ wheel, got to go round
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles, it’s a cryin’ sin
Ride a painted pony, let the spinnin’ wheel spin

You got no money, you got no home
Spinnin’ wheel, all alone
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles and you, you never learn
Ride a painted pony, let the spinnin’ wheel turn
— Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Or — enough with the violence and the peacocking.  The world is moving out, if their people can’t get down to business — the business of living, get with the business of dying.

If it’s peace you find in dying, when dying time is here,
— Laura Nyro

They had publically walked out on him. But George called them afterwards: he was still here, he would provide mediation between the two sides…

Continue reading Going Home →