The Preacher's Personal Jesus Is Dave Grohl

Comic book fans know of what it's like to have a hero. The rest of the world has to wait for a tragedy to unexpectedly strike before heroes pull themselves from the rugged terrain of what used to be. What is a hero in a Rock World where musicians look like bankers? I've always been jealous of the 1960's because "Time" gave society Poet's with pens and along the path they met musicians. People who didn't just speak the street but lived out the messages that fell into place. What is a modern day hero? What should they look like? If we truly see them everyday have we been blinded by personal greed in mirrors made of stain? I sit with a Preacher twice a week in this radio station recording studio. His strength is lyrics. He studies them in the way archeologists uncover passages. The mere mention of Dave Grohl of The Foo Fighters and it doesn't matter how thick the black book he carries weighs, the light in his eyes isn't the perfected halo effect associated with Heaven on earth. Hair style early morning combed, clothing from spiritual journeys and long term commitments; the Preacher fades not into a corner when trying to describe the importance of Dave Grohl in today's mechanisms of convictions. And yet I see in his eyes the commonalities of Prophets versus premonitions. His church on the main strings of a vibrant Democratic Parties campaign and celebration. I can only assume but never bare his cross that he knew of the moment when his personal Jesus arrived to play. A sight for my eyes I wish could have seen. For there's nothing more empowering then falling witness to the presence of those whose only vow in living is to share all that is to be what they call creative. RollingStone Magazine spoke of the tires that drove the Democrats deeper into their speeches made of promises and accusations. Inside brilliantly displayed suits they did stand looking more like political Halloween costumes. And then from out of nowhere the Preacher's Poet found his space. A place to play inside a room filled with anyone. Thousands in attendance, millions more linked to flat screens, smart phones and digitized computers with far too much memory. But not the humans that find a daily need to type at high speeds onto boards featuring white lettered keys. For this is how we communicate leaving barely a reason to have a purpose to hold what's become lost in memory. So I share with you the Preacher's Poet...just as he speaks on Sundays of the Prophets striving to survive during a time that sometimes looks just as rough as the rails that have carried America toward its current hell. The Foo Fighters at the 2012 Democratic Convention in Charlotte USA