But I will not give away too much, or reduce the value of this movie, by telling you it ends on a strongly positive note.
His fathers cattle ranch was destroyed by drought, and by what amounted to poor land management. And in a fit of despair after his coverage of the regional conflict around Rwanda, he takes up his wife’s suggestion to replant it, to regenerate life there, to make of the dry earth a sheltering forest.
And so they planted over 2 million trees. And they grew. This could be done in much of Brazil, and of course for that matter anywhere else.
They say at the end that this is a lesson.
I would take this lesson a step further: the fires which have been burning our souls, turning us into dust, into monsters, can be quenched, and something new planted.
It is, I believe, Turkish proverb which states “no matter how far up the wrong road you have gone, turn around.”
I don’t share everything, as I comment from time to time, but I will share this, which I don’t think I have yet.
When I was at a recent rock concert, I got in tune with the very positive vibe this particularly band (Mondo Cozmo) was putting out. The whole audience felt it (at its best, this is what music does, and should do)–I am always in the flux, which is part of the reason I have to spend so much time alone–and this feeling of overwhelming grief and loss overcame me.
I felt as if a fire, a scorching, engulfing inferno, has been blazing through me all my life. And I teared up when I asked myself: who can I share this with? Who, who has not been there, deeply, completely, can possibly communicate with me? How can they see me? The flames are dying down, and in their place is a vast empty space. Everything is gone. The flame is gone, and so is everything else. Everything was consumed. It took no prisoners.
And I pondered this for a day or so, and it occurred to me that what is left is space for new growth. For small seedlings. For green. For new life. For recreation and spontaneity, after so long. And this comforted me.
On the rare occasions when I show my real eyes, people retreat. They don’t want to know what I have to tell them. And even though I know there are many people like me, very many severely wounded people, they don’t want to walk back into the fire by remembering. I am a very unusual soul. Not unique, by any means, but rare.
But I speak this from the heart: all of us can rebuild. We can build something better than what came before. All this ash in the air will pass one day, if we simply remember our dignity as human beings.
I of course forget my dignity too, perhaps often. I have many security measures in place, ways of hiding, ways of deflecting, ways of avoiding. Still, still, still: sometimes I remember, and those are the seeds which cry out in delight when given water and sun and attention. Those are the children of the soul, and the spirit of renewal. Those are the beginning of what good is possible for all of us, lost here in this confusing place.