The Wild Reed: Dolly and Dionne

Friday, August 28, 2026

Dolly and Dionne

Something very special this evening for music night at The Wild Reed . . . It’s “Peace Like a River,” the 2023 duet by music legends Dolly Parton and Dionne Warwick.

I doubt there’s anyone reading this who isn’t aware of Dolly’s passing earlier this week. News of this great musician and humanitarian’s death at age 80, along with a plethora of tributes, have been flooding the airways and social media feeds for days.

Dolly wrote the gospel song “Peace Like a River” in the 1980s. Over thirty years later she reached out to Dionne to record it with her as a non-album single. The two women spoke about their collaboration in this February 7, 2023 Good Morning America segment. (For Dionne’s response earlier this week to Dolly’s passing, click here.)

Along with sharing the music video for “Peace Like a River,” I share this evening one of the many tributes to Dolly that I’ve come across online since her death on Tuesday (August 25). This particular tribute was shared on Facebook by Don Womack, though he’s clear in acknowledging that he is not the author. He credits it instead to “u/w0nd3rjunk13.”

It’s a piece that explores how Dolly Parton “has become archetypal because she holds together qualities our culture normally separates.” It’s a fascinating and well-written piece by a writer of both insight and talent. You’ll see for yourself; but first enjoy the beautiful “Peace Like a River” by Dolly Parton and Dionne Warwick.

Peace like a river
Bathe me in your holy stream
In your soothing, living waters
Flood my soul and wash me clean
Point me in the right direction
Use me as you think you should
And may I be a great reflection
Of the things that’s right and good

Peace like a river
Oh, yes, peace like a river

He is the answer to our questions
To our prayers, to all things
He is forgiveness to all confessions
The provider of all needs
And He is hope in desperation
Comfort to the soul and mind
Well, He’s our God and our connection
To a land that transcends time

His hand is ever reaching
And His joy, beyond compare
Oh, His words are ever teaching
And His burden, a light to bear
He is there and ever willing
To lead us through the darkest night
And His love is ever giving
And His Son, the guiding light

Oh, peace like a river
Flowin’ on
Sweet peace
Sweet peace
Wash me down, Lord
Oh, wash me clean, Lord, wash me clean
Baptize me in Your living water

He’s the answer to our questions
To our prayers and to all peace
He’s the healer of imperfections
The provider of all needs
And He is hope in desperation
Comfort to the soul and mind

He is peace
Like a river
He is yours
And He is mine
He’s yours
He’s mine

Peace like a river

I’ve been thinking about why Dolly Parton has had such an enormous impact, and I keep returning to Jungian psychology.

Carl Jung, the founder of analytical psychology and a thinker whose work frequently crossed into mysticism, developed a theory of archetypes: deep, organizing patterns that recur throughout psychology, mythology, religion, and storytelling. The mother and the hero are familiar examples, but one of Jung’s most important archetypes was the Self, the organizing center and totality of the psyche.

Jung believed divine figures could symbolize the Self because they often unite qualities that appear opposed. Christ is both divine and human. The Buddha moves between royal luxury and extreme self-denial before discovering the Middle Way. Krishna encompasses divine play, love, wisdom, and duty. They provide images of the greater wholeness toward which we might be drawn.

Saints, mystics, sages, and other holy people have often occupied this space too. Their lives make an overwhelming spiritual pattern human enough to approach. They become bridges between heaven and earth, the universal and the local, and the divine and the intimately human.

In a secular culture, certain public figures can acquire a similar symbolic role. That does not make celebrities spiritually equivalent to saints. It means that some people become vessels for collective projection, representing possibilities larger than their private lives.

So, back to Dolly.

Dolly Parton has become archetypal because she holds together qualities our culture normally separates. She is the impoverished mountain girl and the wealthy businesswoman, extravagantly artificial and unmistakably authentic, overtly sexual and almost grandmotherly, deeply rooted in Southern Christianity and beloved by people who have felt rejected by conservative Christianity.

She can even transcend our political tribalism. The Trump supporter and the Hasan Piker fan can both love Dolly and feel that she belongs to them. The person on the right may see faith, family, rural dignity, self-reliance, and success. The person on the left may see working-class solidarity, unapologetic self-expression, LGBTQ acceptance, and wealth reinvested in the community. Neither reading is false, but neither contains the whole of her.

Even Dolly’s appearance has an almost magical quality. Her enormous blonde hair, rhinestones, exaggerated curves, Tennessee voice, and self-deprecating humor form a kind of living sigil. Yet the artifice feels honest because she openly acknowledges it. The persona is not intended to deceive us. It is a deliberate creation through which she expresses something true. Dolly shows that authenticity does not always mean appearing natural. Sometimes it means consciously creating the form through which your nature can emerge.

Her life also follows the pattern of a fairy tale. The poor girl leaves the mountains, enters the glittering world, becomes a queen, and returns with treasure for her people. Through literacy programs, employment, disaster relief, and other forms of giving, she completes the archetypal journey. She does not merely escape poverty; she returns with abundance.

Her songs perform the same transformation. Heartbreak becomes melody. Poverty becomes dignity. Jealousy becomes an incantation sung by millions. She takes experiences that could produce shame or bitterness and gives them a form others can carry. That is one of the oldest functions of the bard and, in a deeper sense, of magic: transforming private suffering into shared meaning.

This is why describing Dolly as a kind of American folk saint does not feel entirely absurd. It does not mean she is perfect or divine. It means her public life has acquired some of the symbolic qualities traditionally associated with holy figures. Stories of her kindness circulate like legends, her image communicates warmth and protection, and people from radically different backgrounds find hope within her.

Dolly’s magic can be summarized simply: poverty became lineage, “trashiness” became glamour, heartbreak became song, being underestimated became protection, and wealth became generosity.

She made herself larger than life without behaving as though she were larger than other people.

If mythology is culture dreaming aloud, Dolly Parton may be one of America’s most beautiful dreams: the hope that we can become magnificent without abandoning our origins, our humanity, or our heart.