Onward

I tramp a perpetual journey,
My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a staff cut from the
woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, nor church, nor philosophy;
I lead no man to a dinner-table, or library or exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooks you round the waist,
My right hand points to the landscapes of continents, and a plain public
road.

Not I, nor any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far...it is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not
know,
Perhaps it is every where on water and on land.

Shoulder your duds, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth;
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.

If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on
my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me;
For after we start we never lie by again.

This day before dawn I ascended a hill and looked at the crowded
heaven,
And I said to my spirit, When we become the enfolders of those orbs
and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we
be filled and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we level that lift to pass and continue
beyond.

You are also asking me questions, and I hear you;
I answer that I cannot answer...you must find out for yourself.

—Excerpt from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

Peace, Love and Vegetables