How Fragile We Are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are

Sting, of course. He writes them, he sings them, and I am moved by them. Always. What a mind, what a staggering talent. A poet, philosopher, guitarist and singer.. Wait… philosopher?? Oh yes! Read the content of a few of his verses, then you tell me.

The depth of difference between us humans, person to person, is almost immeasurable. I sometimes marvel that we get along as well as we do, knowing the vast chasm of understanding between the selfish, the shallow, and those who have, and who share, an innate knowledge of the world and humankind’s place in it. I feel that Sting is one of those elite folk, and I want to share some of his lyrics with you here.

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the color of the evening sun
Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime’s argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are

Here’s a link to a video of this song, sung by Sting and Josh Groban –
Video – https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=267708389567545

Sting’s wife has been quoted as saying that one of his unique qualities is the ability to reinvent himself. I have.a few friends who have done that, who have reinvented themselves, and very successfully. It’s a neat trick, not everyone can do it. One of my good friends sums it up nicely with his mantra, “Adapt and survive.”

I’ve often wondered how many “Stings,” how many Jesuses, Buddhas, Ghandis, Maya Angelous, Emersons, Amelia Earharts and Robin Williamses’ there are who walk among us every day. Probably a lot more than we suspect. Many never find any fame, likely because they didn’t seek it. In some cases, I’m sure that a measure of fame found them, exposing their brilliance. And that should’t be hard to do, really, as we, as a culture of millions, are a fairy mediocre lot, and any sort of brilliance usually stands apart from us. Yes, many of us have good hearts; many of us have a special talent, one that we share with whomever finds value in it. Yet we succeed on a finite stage, perhaps reaching hundreds, maybe even thousands… but not millions.

I long to be in the company of people like these, and am blessed to have a few friends who think and operate on this exceptional level… and occasionally communicate their thoughts and feelings. It is a rare and total delight for me to be reminded that there are still those among us who have reached, and found, a higher ground. Yet it also drives me crazy occasionally, knowing that so much of this “higher ground” is reachable, attainable, understandable, if we would just fucking open our minds and hearts to the possibilities.

But no. We’re far too busy with the day-to-day pressures of survival and success. The priorities of our basic population are now so skewed, I see little hope that any of the higher ground can be reached for most of us. I get it, of course… but that doesn’t keep me from hating it.



Enough of the negative. Here’s another Sting song I absolutely love –

That’s Not the Shape Of My heart

… He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn’t play for the money he wins
He don’t play for respect

… He deals the cards to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden law of a probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance

… I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that’s not the shape of my heart

… He may play the jack of diamonds
He may lay the queen of spades
He may conceal a king in his hand
While the memory of it fades

… If I told her that I loved you
You’d maybe think there’s something wrong
I’m not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one

… But those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who fear are lost

… I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that’s not the shape of my heart
That’s not the shape of my heart
That’s not the shape
The shape of my heart

The shape of our hearts, and the depth of them, can be plumbed only with a curious, active and fertile mind. There is so much, so very much to our humanity, far, far beyond the gas pumps, 401Ks and cell phones. I would think, even hope, that the acknowledgement of our mortality would lead us to search and to discover, as Sting does so beautifully, the seemingly inner secrets of our being. Because it’s there, it’s right there, if only we could stop, breathe and look inside ourselves. What we would find, each of us? Ah, now that I can tell you –

How fragile we are
How fragile we are.

Steve Huse