Dear Helicopter Guy. {poetry}
{source}
Dear Helicopter Guy,
I can see you, hovering up the land
You think you can see things clearly from up there,
All mapped out into little square fields and buildings
Nice and clear.
I have bad news for you, helicopter guy:
You’re out of touch.
You’ve got the roarings of finely tuned machinery in your ears
And the smell of jet fuel in your nose
You’ve forgotten what running water sounds like,
And how it feels to climb the stairs late at night after a day of work.
I’m very impressed with your qualifications,
And your taste in contemporary art;
No one could argue with your crisp shirts and tortoiseshell frames,
And no one would want to, because you’re such a nice guy.
It’s easy to be relentlessly pleasant from up there, isn’t it?
Gazing down on the mortals here below,
Making tolerant comments about the poor and badly educated masses.
You’re so well-informed on economic theory.
There are ten thousand paths up the mountain, helicopter guy.
You know about all of them, you can see them all,
You may even be mapping them,
With sophisticated and unerringly accurate technical equipment.
Have you thought about writing a book?
But helicopter guy, do you know what it’s like here in the shade of a big tree,
Holding hands with a beloved?
Do you know what it’s like to squat in the middle of the road with exhaustion,
and then take an offered hand,
Or fall flat on your face on an erratic tree root?
Do you know the pleasure of a round pebble right in the arch of your foot?
Or how it feels to let your body shake with grief?
The pleasure of a mossy bank when your body is weary?
The peace when you stop performing?
Your feminist theory is impeccable, dear high-flyer
I’m so impressed you’ve read Judith Butler
And of course you understand the constructs of gender better than all those silly women
You even wrote about it for a boutique online magazine.
But you’re lonely up there, helicopter guy, I know you are.
How can you love from 30,000 feet?
Answer: not very well.
So you’ve tried to get what you could not feel
And Judith would not like the things you have done.
It’s not your fault, really. They told you lies, like:
“It’s best to be impartial,” and,
“Real men don’t cry,” and,
“Reside as the witness.”
So you diligently practised meditation with the best available app
And now you hover oh-so-benevolently.
Come and land on the ancient earth.
Turn off your whining blades.
Step out of your metal armor, and rest your soft body on the peaceful ground.
Throw out your lovely maps, and come and swim
Swim naked in the flowing river
Feel the hot stones beneath your lily-white feet.
We’ve been breathing the same air, all this time
Even as your fumes made us wince.
You weren’t so far above the earth we’re made of.
In fact, you never made it anywhere at all.
We take you back with open arms
From your pointless journeys.
Forget the ten thousand paths you know so much about,
And take a single, wobbly step down one.
***
{Photo credit: Endless Smiles Photography}
Rosalind Atkinson is a writer, editor, and yogini, who was shocked today when a waiter mistakenly put an entire deep-fried fish in front of her, eyeballs and all. This seemed to sum up everything that’s wrong with our unfeeling society. After spending interesting seasons as an environmental activist, academic of mystic poetry, and spiritual try-hard, she realized it’s better to work for the good than to oppose the bad, better to love and create than to critique and analyze, and better to participate in life than be some transcendent know-it-all. She is editor of the National Council of Women of New Zealand’s magazine, has written for Greenpeace, Overland Journal, Elephant Journal, and others, teaches Yoga as simple participation in life via No Problem Yoga and Heart of Yoga, and is currently in despair mode on a book draft. You could follow her on Twitter or Instagram.
***
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