The curtain climbs over me every morning I don鈥檛 know why I鈥檓 so immunized against reforming

I went to bed last night 鈥� unthinkingly 鈥� in my Tragically Hip T-shirt. Sky blue with a bold 鈥淗鈥� and 鈥淧鈥� framing a silhouette of Gord Downie in an iconic pose standing in place of the 鈥淚.鈥�

I awoke to , undoubtedly pre-prepared months ago, expected, but no less hard to read: Downie was gone.

Conventional journalism directs me to backfill here; to recount his brave battle with inoperable brain cancer and the definitive Canadianness that defined his band.

I refuse. You don鈥檛 need it. I don鈥檛 want it. I want to write about words. About my fascination with them. About my awe at the way Gord could sculpt them into constructions of great and terrible and at times indecipherable beauty. About my ineffectual struggle at this moment to forge them into something that does justice to his gift.

The highest and best use of words is to connect, inspire and understand. As cynical as most are about journalists, that remains the reason why I, and so many of my peers, got into this business. Gord worked that, lived it, on a higher level.

We don鈥檛 go anywhere

Just on trips

We haven鈥檛 seen a thing

We still don鈥檛 know where it is

It鈥檚 a safe mistake

A wise man once said 鈥渨hen the sunlight hits the olive oil don鈥檛 hesitate.鈥� Gord spoke about art and truth and life and how they intertwine and how their pursuit gives one both perspective and purpose. We鈥檙e all given the ability to discern right from wrong; to know what鈥檚 important and what is not. We鈥檙e all given tools and opportunities with which we can learn, grow, understand 鈥� make the world a little bit better. But too often, most of us remain in the car, driving where we are told to go, experiencing what we are told to experience, expecting the expected, seeking out that which reinforces our biases instead of challenging them.

Gord鈥檚 work urged us to plunge in deeper than what the tour guide would suggest, to take roads less travelled and listen to voices seldom heard.

All with the too-often lonely goal of creating community.

The surface is green and the dark interweaves

In a lonely iridescence

It鈥檚 terribly deep and the cold is complete

And it only lacks your presence and nothing else

One of the most enduring tenets of the Hip gospel is that they are a uniquely Canadian treasure, that other countries simply 鈥渄on鈥檛 get.鈥� I鈥檝e always wondered why. Sure Gord spoke in cultural idioms like Clayoquot Sound and Bobby Orr largely unique to Canada, but the underlying themes of Carpe Diem and empathy were universal.

Life is a privilege. It鈥檚 not about getting the T-shirt. It鈥檚 about making your life your own iconic pose.

Step out of your world container. Make this world a better place.

My balloons may be filled with rain right now, but the inspiration of this poet need never fade.

Said, 鈥榓in鈥檛 life a grand and I鈥檓 in awe of y鈥檃ll鈥�

I鈥檝e dropped into my haunted bunk

Been to your touchless times out where the water鈥檚 drying

Been past the 鈥楴o Attractions Past This Point鈥� sign

What we have here are all flaws in progress

Where all songs are one song and that song is Don鈥檛 Forget

禄 John McKinley writes for Reach him at editor@vifreedaily.com