Upon stumbling by chance
upon a man waist-deep in quicksand,
I need a second to process.
After all, this is fiction made flesh.
It's like going to the zoo
and seeing a mermaid.
So my first response,
naturally, is to tell him,
"Hey, I'm pretty sure
that I read somewhere
that quicksand isn't actually dangerous,
that the idea of a patch of sandy water
sucking a person down into oblivion
is just a tall tale.
In real life, yeah, I mean,
you can get caught in quicksand,
but it's not really that hard to get out.
So are you sure
you're drowning in quicksand?"
He sinks.
My words don't seem to have any effect.
So, being an open-minded,
progressive individual, I reevaluate.
Maybe quicksand is real. So, what now?
My second response
upon stumbling by chance
upon a man chest-deep in quicksand,
before I actually do anything,
is to make sure I have the whole picture.
I mean, what was this guy doing
out here in the jungle all alone?
Did he step
into that quicksand on purpose?
Does he have a criminal record?
Maybe I should wait
until all the facts come in.
He sinks.
And, again, being an open-minded,
progressive individual,
I decide to give him the benefit
of the doubt, at least for now.
I want to help.
So my third response
upon stumbling by chance
upon a man neck-deep in quicksand
is, obviously, to recite a poem,
to throw some spirit energy his way,
to describe out loud
just how heavy my heart is.
I take a piece of paper out of my backpack
and with a pen, I write:
"Quicksand is bad,"
that I support people who fall in it,
and I pin that piece of paper to my chest.
I take out my phone and I tweet:
"When are we going to wake up?
#quicksand"
He sinks.
And, being an open-minded,
progressive individual,
I decide that this isn't enough,
that we, as a society,
need to address the root causes
of people sinking into quicksand.
So my fourth response
upon stumbling by chance
upon a man forehead-deep in quicksand
is to take a moment and really acknowledge
and think about my privilege
as someone who is not
sinking in quicksand.
I vow to take a class,
or to challenge my friends
when they make quicksand-related jokes,
to be more mindful
of how I navigate the world.
He sinks.
And, being an open-minded,
progressive individual,
I decide that the time
for words has passed.
Now is the time for action.
So my fifth response
upon stumbling by chance
upon a man disappeared into...
We can't allow ourselves
to forget what happened here.
I know we need to do something--
to put up a sign, to educate people,
to build a bridge
over this patch of quicksand.
I just don't have any wood.
I just have this backpack
full of paper and pens and rope.
What can one person do?
I imagine my lungs filling with mud,
black earth, brown water.
The hike back to my hotel
will be full of reflection.
I say a prayer under my breath.
It is the least I can do.
(cheers and applause)
