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A Passage from:
"The Beat Face of God—The Beat Generation Writers as Spirit Guides."
by Stephen Edington
Introduction: In the aftermath of the publication of On the Road Jack Kerouac was asked, on a New York City radio program, what it was he really wanted. His reply was “I want God to show me his face.” That line became the basis for my book’s title and for a chapter titled “Jack Kerouac and the face of God.” These are the closing paragraphs of that chapter:
“In the faces of my questioners was the hopeless question: But why?” wrote Jack Kerouac in the wild aftermath of the publication of On the Road, when, as he put it, “everything exploded.” But the question is never to be fully answered, just as the face of God is never to be fully revealed. The important thing, however, is that Jack Kerouac made the effort. And the even more important thing, as I’m sure he’d tell us himself if he could, is that we make the effort for ourselves as well.
I turn to Kerouac when I need some encouragement in making the effort myself. Whether it’s a visit to his grave—which is about a half-hour’s drive from my home—or simply reflecting upon his joyful and tragic, ebullient and troubled, divine and demonic life, I need to say “thank you” to him now and again. I thank him for pointing out a precious kind of beauty in the tired and forlorn face of a diner waitress. I thank him for seeing a strange kind of saintliness in the often wild and crazy ways of his companion of the road, Neal Cassady. I thank him for allowing me to see a land I can still love, even with all that its politicians have done to it, through the window of a Greyhound bus. I thank him for noticing the spurting froth on the rocks of the Merrimack River as it flowed through his home town of Lowell, even as it now flows alongside of mine. I thank him for having the courage to recount his own dark nights of the soul on Washington State’s Desolation Peak and at California’s Big Sur. For in each of these revelations Kerouac offers at least a fleeting glimpse of that elusive face of God, and a passing intimation of the Divine that resides in the ordinary and even, at times, in the destructive.
Jack Kerouac died a lonely death, and one that gave the appearance of a defeated man. But his life and literary legacy have proven to be far more lasting in the years following his death than in those preceeding it. While he died in isolation, his spirit now touches the lives of countless individuals—many of whom make the trip to Lowell to pay their respects and offer their thanks to Jack Kerouac.
My most lasting memory of a trip to his grave came on one of my March 12 birthday treks following an especially severe New England winter. The snow was so deep and wet that I did not want to make the walk from the roadway that passes near his grave to the marker itself. I stood in the roadway and offered a silent prayer in the direction of Kerouac’s grave. About five or six young people, probably in their teens and twenties, approached. None of them were wearing boots. Without breaking stride they walked through the knee-deep snow and formed a circle around the marker. From their pockets each of them took out a poem s/he’d written, and read it as they stood in their circle. Then they tromped back through the snow and continued on their way.
God, Jack, if you only could have seen it.
Maybe you did.
The Beat Face of God by Stephen Edington was published in 2005 by Trafford Publishing. Copies are available from the author who may be reached at orders@nashuaedingtons.com.