O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
a new temple through which the future would be ushered into an
empire that had resisted philosophical change for nearly three
thousand years. They had no idea that this was what they were doing;
they thought they were just building yet another temple for the sun-
king.
The sun-king watched from the window of his palace as they
sang, drumming his fingers in rhythm with their tune. It reminded
him of a time when he himself worked for a living and also sang songs
about working and living and dying and the difficulties of love.
He walked out into the courtyard and over to the lounging
workers. His courtiers followed behind. There was little reason to
fear for the sun-king’s safety, as to attack the king was to attack God,
and to destroy the world.
Seeing the entourage approaching, the workers suddenly sprang
to their feet and stood nervously rigid, waiting to be ordered back to
their daily toil.
“Relax!” laughed Hopkins, “I just wanted to jam with you guys.”
The assembled workers, one hundred men between the ages of
fifteen and fifty, still stood stiffly. Finally, one of the courtiers
announced, “You have received the command of Pharaoh Akhnaton,
the sun-king! Now jam!”
“No, no. Lighten up, Clyde,” Hopkins quickly said to his Vizier. I
just thought that maybe we could have an informal little session.” He
was aware that arranging an informal little session with one hundred
fearful laborers was a tall order, but he wanted to try anyway.
“Say, why don’t you hand me that crazy-looking guitar, son?”
Hopkins said to a teenager who had been strumming a crude
predecessor of the lute. Nervously, the youth ran up and placed the
battered instrument into the hands of a soldier, who passed it to the
Vizier, who in turn passed it him. “Thanks!” Hopkins said, and sat
down on a stone while the others all watched, dumbfounded at the
king’s odd behavior.
“You fellas know how to play the blues?” he called loudly, so that
everyone could hear. There was, of course, no response.
“Its easy. See, the blues is when you’re walking through life
backwards, with the weight of the world on your shoulders. When
instead of getting bigger, you’re getting smaller. Blue is the color of
dead people. It’s also the color of the ocean, and of night, and of
dreaming. We’re always trying to get away from the blue. The whole
universe even tries to get away from the blue. It’s afraid of it. See,
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