Is the world fair in Knoxville, Tennessee?

How did I get here? All of a sudden I am sitting in 90-degree heat on a field of short astroturf-like grass field (with a drain in the middle of it) on the fourth of July watching a young man repel down from the giant disco ball they call the Sunsphere. I couldn't be anywhere more American than the site of the 1982 World Fair. Ronald Reagan is speaking on TV.... and didn't they just mean to say "former" US President? I feel like I've been transported back in time or that maybe I just dove into some X- files rerun where they have successfully cloned all these little white families. Ah, but the hillbilly fiddle is addictive, and there is fried food I've never heard of, so ah guess ah'll give 'er a try.






I came to Knoxville to follow a new friend home to his wonderful h.o.m.e. and give in to a particular feeling about returning to this beautiful state. Because it is my goal to explore healing and wisdom all over the South, I was initially mystified at the possibilities I would find here, and totally unprepared for the passion I would experience in my own journey. After all, isn't Knoxville a relic of another time? In his novel Suttree Cormac McCarthy refers to it as a "city constructed on no known paradigm, a mongrel architecture reading back through the works of man in a brief delineation of the aberrant disordered and mad." And yet, a glutton for punishment, I fall in love with it all.

My first day walking my way through Knoxville, I of course sought out the homeless community and it's advocates. It was kind of hard not to notice them. Walking down Broadway into town I passed by the Salvation Army and under a bridge where the low income community has taken up daily residence. I wanted to know where people stay when the heat in this valley town creeps up beyond recognition.

I shared a conversation with Reverend Bruce, whose organization is actually similar to Preble Street's in Portland. I was amazed to find such a kindred spirit in the Reverend, a man who understands what it means to simultaneously be doing ally work and self reflection. He spoke poignantly about his "hillbilly roots" in Appalachia, and openly shared his process of constantly questioning faith within the work.
















Knoxville is populated by an old carpet and furniture industry, factory work which still draws many Latinos to the state on the whole for employment. It was once known as the "new Atlanta", boasting one of the first African-American mayors in the south.
Today, however, the city is pretty segregated and there is a count of 1800-2000 homeless folks a month, 70% of whom are chronically homeless, according to Rev. Bruce. More and more women who have chronic major mental illness inhabit these streets and it is even more and more difficult to engage people in services. We talk about the people resting under the bridge as being a symbolic stronghold of people's resistance to treatment and development and as an assertion of their rights as a community. I hear the music to Les Mis playing in my mind.





The community center has currently purchased and begun renovating an old, elaborate boarding house called Minvilla, which continues to be attraction for the alternative tourist. Decrepit, witchy remains that will someday soon provide a transition for people on the street.




We talk about the implications of doing work with the faith community. Rev. Bruce describes Knoxville as being so "haunted by religiousity" that even atheists have a church. As I walk around the neighborhood, I believe him. Jesus is around every corner. But as I have learned in my volunteer work with the homeless community in Durham, NC, in the South sometimes the more radical folks are people of faith, as opposed to state social workers.















How do they protect their "neighbors" under the bridge when it is too warm outside? When the temperature is 89 degrees or above, they raise a white flag to alert them that they can rest inside the shelter during the day. Under the umbrella of labor relations in the South, we talk about how many homeless folks continue to be exploited for dangerous day labor in Knoxville. Every day on my way to the farm, I pass the overpopulated Labor Ready and hope that people are getting enough care in this heat.

II.

I headed to the Smoky Mountains for some of my own healing. Although the Smoky Mountains are incredibly over-commercialized, to the point of nausea, I walked far enough into their woods to let the green take over. I couldn't believe how overgrown with moss and flowers, like a wooded fairyland. Getting lost once, picking up a bear trail, sharing a moment with a deer, I walked myself into the woods alone and set up camp. I was so hoping to see a black bear. I could hear them around me as I drifted off to sleep, totally confident to have my bag hung up high in the trees above me. Although I was sleeping with the bears the whole time, I never actually saw one. I awoke to have oatmeal next to the river until rangers approached with horses and I was accompanied once again.

III.

Finally, I believe I came to Knoxville to hear the wall at the US/Mexico border being played. At a local gallery downtown I finally met another traveling musician, interested in "transforming the border from a symbol of fear and loathing into an instrument capable of promoting unity". Working with various instruments and communities on both sides of the border, Glenn from Tucson, Arizona has created a symphony of the metal, helicopters, and even air around the wall to answer the question, how can sound be a bridge between people?

As I listen I am reminded of the call and response of salsa music, meditative sufi chanting, and even the southern cicadas, undulating choruses in the Tennessee heat. One of the most poignant scenes of this musical journey is at a desert altar, where he has recorded and transformed the space surrounding loss. We had an inspiring conversation about empowering ourselves to transform our instruments of oppression into instruments of sound and healing. I really liked the idea of people having access to the wall through music and I hope to incorporate this into my work someday. (Check out sonicanta.com).


On my way out of town, I pass Carletta and Missy's Quality Furniture and Antiques, cross the railroad tracks and housing projects to arrive at the mountains. In my heavier bags are two silk flowers, tokens of my time here. They represent the sweetness and the frivolity, the capacity of people in Knoxville to create beauty out of old relics and still older stories.