I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes
Clear your heart...
Cut the cord

The call comes--just like the Call (Paul's or Augustine's or that of St. Francis)--unexpectedly. It comes after what seems an eternity of listening, a battle to stop listening, and an irrational willingness to continue to hear, among the crackling of fragmented voices, a call to . . .

A call to surrender. A call to be swept away. A call to step up on a platform that requires you to step down--to close your eyes and clear your heart--in order to let go. Why is it that the call always says the same thing? "Leave yourself and follow me"--Okay Jesus, okay Gandhi, okay love.

We all get nervous. Sometimes I get nervous. In fact, every time--not that there have been too many times--I get nervous. I like hearing the call. I like the fact that somehow I have the capacity to be called. But, the surrender--the stepping up to step down--that part makes me nervous, that part makes me want to close my eyes and stay still.

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well..
You've gotta let me go

This saying goodbye--giving my regards in preparation of my and/or their absence--does it signify surpassing or overcoming? Am I leaving them behind as a matter of ascent to another level or overcoming their puniness in favor of something excessive--something transcendent?

You got to let me go--let go of the categories--the projections--the types--the planning--the figuring--the imagining--all of it. "Come follow me"--that is what the call says--that it is what it requires.

Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

Answering this call--where does it lead? It leads to a question--are we human or dancer? Answering this call--letting myself be swept away--letting surrender constitute my existence--does it lead to being the human I am supposed to be--want to be--try to be--or to something different--to a dancer?

On the one hand, many--religious and not--would say that answering the call is the highest function of being human. Answering the call of love (or Love), is for many the very definition of being human. After all, how else could one be human without being constituted by a call--a transcendent source of their definition?

On the other, certain daring minds cringe at the idea. To them, the call is not a matter of fulfilling categories to be human, but of overcoming the human by dancing--by being swept up into a sea of singularities that plays endlessly, moves voraciously, and sings in rough, tumbling, unforgiving waves of inhuman tones, symphonies, and even silence. To them, dancing upon the surface motion--reveling in the incongruity of it all--is what it is all about.

Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight?
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know is your heart still beating


Does the latter mean dying? Does it mean leaving home for another? Does answering the call mean being swept away altogether?

I don't know.

I already said it makes me nervous and most times I don't answer.

But, I want to think--want to hope--that answering the call is a matter of being human by dancing.

I want to think that by being human I can get to the place where I want to dance--want to revel--yes, want to surrender on a platform in front of an audience--and be taken where the call will take me.

The trick--the concern--the idea--is to realize the call will come numerous times, in numerous places.

Yes, that's right: It is not a call from the One, but of one calling--asking--you to dance. It is a matter not of one in a lifetime, but of a life human enough to fulfill itself by dancing; a life human enough to be itself through surrender.

I get nervous.

I close my eyes.

I try.

One day the call will sweep me into an ocean of revelry. Until then, I'll wait--I'll try--and I'll continue to attempt to be human enough to be called again.