(This is the third of a three part series.)
         Last time I talked about the community that emerged and took form at Grateful Dead concerts, and about some of my own remarkable experiences at these shows.  Jerry Garcia sang, poured his opened heart and melodic genius out through his guitar, and with his friend Robert Hunter wrote many of the songs the band performed.
         Jerry died in 1995, and is deeply missed by me and thousands of others, who without either knowing him or having any interest in his private life somehow still felt him as a friend.  I've heard many reports that he was a kind-hearted soul.  In interviews I've seen, he was enthusiastic, cheerful, intelligent, philosophical, and modest.  Unlike many performers, he had a fair hold on his ego, thereby helping the band stay together for 30 years.  He stepped back and helped others shine, but didn't hesitate to shine himself.  He was fluent in many musical styles and extremely hard-working, performing in an astonishing number of concerts each year.  The Dead might have played 21 shows in 26 days in 6 cities on the east coast, then he'd get home and perform 10 shows in 11 days with his other bands in San Francisco.  Small wheel turn by the fire and rod, big wheel turn by the grace of God, every time that wheel go round, bound to cover just a little more ground.  We often wondered how long he'd last, treasuring the shows more because we never knew when it would end.  One more day, I find myself alive; tomorrow, may be cold beneath the ground...
         Jerry succumbed with diabetes and heart disease to his personal demons of cigarettes, junk food, and dangerous drugs.  All the years combined, they melt into a dream, a broken angel sings from a guitar.  Somehow, it seems he knew he'd depart early.  Gonna leave this brokedown palace, on my hands and my knees I will roll roll roll; make myself a bed by the waterside, in my time, in my time, I will roll roll roll; goin' home, goin' home, by the waterside I will rest my bones; listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul.
         Though he used sound more than words, Jerry was the best writer I've ever seen.  With his guitar he crafted sentences and paragraphs, chapters and books of shimmering clarity and astonishing power and beauty.  I wish I was a headlight, on a north bound train; I'd shine my light through the cool Colorado rain.  Jerry always dotted his I's and crossed his T's.  Hearing his guitar solos, I'd often feel a thrill of deep recognition:  "YES!  That's IT!  That's exactly how I would say it, if I could play."  He sang with a sometimes crusty but friendly and distinctive voice, exuding hints of folk and bluegrass and often brimming with focused emotion.  Sometimes he looked and sounded to me like Moses up on stage--just come down from the mountain and here to tell us what he'd seen.  His music catapulted me into uncharted territories of the mind; it energized me and taught me how to move my body freely.  At times I was awestruck by the sheer thundering power of his song, at other times the sweetness of his melodies melted my soul.
         Anyway, like a steam locomotive, rollin' down the track, he's gone, gone, and nothin's gonna bring him back.  He's gone.  The cliche is true:  life is short.  Unforgettable experiences of connection and community showed me what's most important.  While lady lullaby sings plainly for you, love still rings true.  Remembering this has helped inoculate me against spending my life barking up the wrong trees.  Since it costs a lot to win, and even more to lose, you and me better spend some time wonderin' what to choose; goes to show you don't ever know, watch each card you play and play it slow...
         Those who've read my columns know I think our culture has gone off on a wrong track, especially in how we are arrogantly wiping out other species and undermining the very life support system of our planetary home.  Goddamn well I declare, have you seen the like?  Their walls are built with cannon balls, their motto is "don't tread on me."  Come hear Uncle John's Band, by the riverside, got some things to talk about, here beside the rising tide.  In the same song, we hear that there ain't no time to hate, barely time to wait.
         In light of these realities, I try--in some perhaps small but tangible way--to help create a better world.  Part of this necessitates removing the old worldview.  I won't slave for beggar's pay, likewise gold and jewels, but I would slave to learn a way, to sink your ship of fools.  Beyond this, I'm learning to work from hope and optimism.  Who can stop what must arrive now?  Something new is waiting to be born.
         Jerry started singing an especially beautiful and haunting new song in the early 90s--"The Days Between."  My sister and I puzzled over its meaning, then, at the end of a show in which we'd heard it, she rushed up to me with the revelation:  "I know what it means!  The Days Between, the days between--when you're born, and when you die."
         Life is short; it's my responsibility to use time well.  There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of the night, and if you go, no one may follow, that path is for your steps alone.
         I think of my mother.  In another time's forgotten space, your eyes looked from your mother's face; wildflower seed on the sand and stone, may the four winds blow you safely home.  I hope she's safely home, but in my world she's simply gone.  It all rolls into one, and nothing comes for free; there's nothing you can hold for very long; and when you hear that song, come cryin' like the wind, it seems like all this life was just a dream; Stella Blue...
         And finally, in words Jerry often sang at the end of a show:  Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell; listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul; gonna listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul.
         Goodnight, everybody.