One of rock and roll’s eternal greats shares his insights into paganism, playing guitar, scars, fatherhood, sex, and clarity.

The wisest person I ever met had to be my companion in the hospital. I was recovering from complications after an operation to remove an aneurism in my brain. She was about eighty-five years old and maybe five feet tall. An old black lady from South Carolina. This young nurse wasn’t really in touch with what she was doing, and the old lady would tell her how to do what she needed to do without telling her. She never talked down to her, just gave examples. I felt that this old woman must be deeply religious, but there was nothing forceful about her. I woke up one morning at a quarter to six and looked out the window. Fog was on the bridge outside the room, and I said, “Well, that’s just beautiful.” And she said: “Yes, it is.” She turned toward me with this eighty-five-year-old face that didn’t have a line on it, no strain, nothing, and she said: “So the master’s not taking you. It’s not your turn.”

Courage is a mindless thing. People say, “Wow! How could you do that?” And you say, “How could I not do that?”

One thing that has come out of having children with cerebral palsy is strength. At first it made me very angry. I was almost looking for a fight. I was always looking for someone to criticize my son in my presence. I would envision different scenarios in which I would become violent reacting to people’s reactions to my children — especially to my severely handicapped child. Eventually, he taught me that was not necessary. Just by being himself. By being a gift to us. He showed us how to have faith and belief and inner strength and to never give up. I look around and see people hurting themselves for no reason. Drinking too much. Taking drugs. Beating themselves up in some psychological way. That really bothers me, knowing that these people got everything they needed to succeed. All they have to do is believe in themselves and in the gifts they’re wasting. And yet there are all these other people on the planet who have none of the gifts that are apparent. The gifts are all locked up inside, yet their spirits are so strong that they just keep on going. And I think: This person who has this spirit, why can’t he have some of the outward gifts?

Maybe this is a little too thoughtful, but we’re all just passengers in a way.

For more wisdom from Neil Young, read his full What I’ve Learned at Esquire.com