“One Hand and the Whale”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_56zE8d_u4&list=UUjBuqkbiVGJNpj9E0HmyZRw
By Randall Stephen Hall ©
For all of my life I have related to the outsider. The person on the periphery of things. Travelling on the outer edge,
not seeking the centre. For everyone looks to the centre rather than the edge, of the wheel. The outer circle of a wheel
is a different wood entirely. Just as it is different again, for any Wheelwright, who makes a proper wheel from a selection
of woods for their different qualities. The “hub”, made from Elm. The “spokes”, made from Oak, and the “five felloes” or rim,
made from Ash or Beech.
All necessary and all needed for the one wheel, bound with bands of iron, for added strength.
Few of us pretend to understand the importance of a big outsider like the whale, or see the necessity of a spider. A Rat, a Seagull
or Fox, all scavengers, have little significance in our lives, other than they are there, on the edge of our society and often, on the edge,
the rim, of our vision.
Where would we be without the call of the crow the buzzard, or the hum of our bees? Where indeed? The shoddy wheels, carrying
the cart of our society are getting closer and closer to the edge of something we cannot comprehend. Our demise, our death or our re-birth.
This, in a sense, makes our bitter squabbles, in this wee province, (in a world sense), worthless. Could we be seen as time wasters,
puffed up with our own sense of self importance? Like Lilliputians trying to persuade the world and each other, that we are giants,
still arguing over how to crack the smallest and the bitterest of eggs.
There is wisdom in the call of the whale and strength in the different woods to make up any good wheel. Can we accept the diverse woods
of our culture here, while seeing the value of the outsider, to reflect back, upon ourselves, the rot in our actions and words?
I thought you might enjoy this song. “One Hand and the Whale”
Here are the lyrics . . .
Oh I am the whale and I live in the sea
What are you making that’s just killing me.
For I travel for miles and so do my friends.
They say you are rich, you have money to spend.
Oh I am the eagle, I fly up on high.
When I look at you, well, I suffer and sigh.
For you tell me you’re happy as you live this lie.
You run like ants every morning.
Chorus . . .
And the sea and the sky and the land, you, and I
Used to sing this old song
Here we are we belong.
And the sea and the sky and the land, you and I
Used to sing this old song
Here we are we are one.
Oh I am the rat and the seagull and fox
We live off your rubbish, and we take the knocks
As we go look for food over bottle and box.
To try feed our kids every morning.
Chorus . . .
And when you are gone, we will tell tales of you.
The woman the man and the children we knew.
For they all lived amongst us
When we shared this land.
When we were so young
We were just like one hand . . .
Chorus . . .
the end (quite possibly . . .)
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