Bod Dylan, Positively 4th Street
The lyrics are below.
Jack wrote a blog post about Bob Dylan’s song, Positively 4th Street. That’s what he said on Audioboo. And I hadn’t heard that song in the longest time, so I’m glad that Jack reminded me of it.
What was interesting to me when reading and listening to the comments about Bob Dylan’s song, Positively 4th Street, was the hurt, anger, and pain that pours out when people talk about it. But not me. The paradox is interesting.
Something beautiful is happening inside me.
Betrayed. Back stabbed. Ignored. Unforgiven. Defamed. Vilified. Robbed. Defrauded. Cheated. Deceived. Attacked. Shot at. Beaten. Cut. Threatened. Pushed. Humiliated. Punched. Kicked. Litigated. Misled. Cursed and Hexed. Falsely Accused.
Been there and done that. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. And I am not afraid that it will happen all over again as it did.
Bob Dylan isn’t singing something I don’t know.
My heart has been broken, but I’m still around and I’m still doing what I do. Whatever that is. But it has a lot to do with being me, discovering me, and my profound enchantment with the beautiful, the good, and the true. With love, hope, and faith. God. And then some.
Beauty surrounds me, insists, presses me to surrender to it like an enemy could only dream to do me.
That sucks for you- whether or not you are conscious of the suck. You feel it existentially – regardless.
Because it sucks to be pitied as I pity you, Brutus. Nothing is worse than that – speaking existentially.
Sometimes, I am afraid.
Yet I’m not afraid of you, Brutus – you who plot and scheme to take from me what I am more than happy to give to you in my wealth of spirit. Most of the time, you just gotta ask. Really!
This fascinates me. That you didn’t ask for something and you thought you had to take it by force or cunning. Most of the time, I allow you to get away with it. In other words, you steal from me by my permission and consent. Rarely, am I the fool you imagine me. And there’s more than a few of you I could have put in prison. Or the hospital. Or…
But the untold and immeasurable profit, in fact, was mine. Even when it hurt so bad that I had to wonder for a moment, like Hamlet did, whether not being was much better than being. Because I am learning how to forgive and that, my friend, is the hardest thing.
That’s something that can’t be taken nor given. That you can’t buy at any price – not with all the gold, treasure, wisdom, or kisses from the four corners of the world.
I do not write now with contempt. Nor do I seek to avenge past wrongs by gloating. Be sure of that, dearest Brutus.
This, I believe, is the greatest insult and the greatest gift: Love.
That I thrive in love in the face of outrageous insult, misfortune or injustice. That I grow less afraid to love a Coyote’s humanity regardless of the demonstrated lack of it.
Oh-oh-oh, how my heart goes out to you! For you lack love and that emptiness must burn forever in you like a black hole. I don’t ever want to stand in your shoes, Brutus.
To quote the other Jack (Dr. Jack King) who quotes the Navajo:
I have been to the end of the Earth.
I have been to the end of the waters.
I have been to the end of the sky.
I have been to the end of the mountains.
I have found none that are not my friends.
I am not there. I do not stand at the ends where the skies open endlessly to an eternity of beauty and humility. But every injury and blessing takes me one step closer to wonderful.
You have given me so much, spotted Hyena. And I am not always grateful. But oh how beautiful I am – when I can be grateful to the spotted Hyena. As a son of God is grateful for all blessings: hammers and all.
In fleeting moments, you have made me feel myself – dizzy in the Glorious. Forever. A child of God. And for that, I am deeply in your debt.
Here’s the lyrics to Bob Dylan’s song, Positively 4th Street:
You got a lotta nerve
To say you are my friend
When I was down
You just stood there grinning
You got a lotta nerve
To say you gota helping hand to lend
You just want to be on
The side that’s winning
You say I let you down
You know it’s not like that
If you’re so hurt
Why then don’t you show it
You say you lost your faith
But that’s not where it’s at
You had no faith to lose
And you know it
I know the reason
That you talk behind my back
I used to be among the crowd
You’re in with
Do you take me for such a fool
To think I’d make contact
With the one who tries to hide
What he don’t know to begin with
You see me on the street
You always act surprised
You say, “How are you?” “Good luck”
But you don’t mean it
When you know as well as me
You’d rather see me paralyzed
Why don’t you just come out once
And scream it
No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I’d rob them
And now I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand
It’s not my problem
I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you
This is how I want to write! With heart overflowing…
25 February 2012
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