“
So I sat there and listened and started disintegrating. This has happened twice before. The first time was in the Tiki Room at the Bombay Oberoi, listening to a Bengali play guitar and sing 'My Way.' The second time was in a Zapatista village in the mountains of Chiapas, listening to a young woman from Montana play guitar and sing 'Redemption Song.' Both times I was left in little pieces that took a long time to push back together. And there along the river, listening to our music, all about yearning for freedom, I again felt overwhelmed by the same juxtapositions and ironies.
”
”