Passing in the Aisle

This week I have several times stared at my yellow pad and left the page blank, or worse, moved on with scribbles crossed out and nothing productive to bring over to the computer or launch to this site. With this chicken is combined an egg of a stuffed head and scratchy throat, and the fear that my life has come to a standstill.

On Sunday, I felt great, painting a friend’s office and looking forward to a week of high points as numerous and multiplying as the weeks before, no hint of any body drag. The next morning my throat clenched with an ache that woke me startled and remained in varying intensity throughout the week. Not horribly sick, I am just swollen headed, lethargic, coughing and whining.

It was not enough to stop me from a great evening of music, sitting in with a jam band as part of my quest for compatible musicians. I was exuberantly able to write a grant that will probably lead to a satisfying part-time job. From the mouth of my cave, I could look out on the world to find numerous ways to promote my activities so that they can become full time work. In a strange sort of way, there are numerous small piles for which I can account, though it feels as if I have done nothing at all.

Given the excitement of emotional energy and physical stamina expended in these last weeks between band changes, writing projects, the trip to Oregon, and friendships new and old, I am not surprised to collapse and day dream in lackluster colors. In some respects, pushing so hard, it takes a sniffling malfunction to enforce a rest, but having been so productive lately, I bristle at less.

Regularly, friends who read this blog comment that they could never feel comfortable exposing so much inner dialogue, fear and wonder to public scrutiny. Plenty of times my own embarrassment or sense of decorum provides some censorship, but I have never been shy about answering truthfully when asked in passing, “How are you?”

This has led to long conversations in grocery store aisles, stepping forward and back to accommodate the people who actually are shopping, while I vomit forth the latest adventures. My redster shows scars where I lean against it for an hour, stopped on my way, but sharing a lesson listening to some one else.

Too often we scurry and scatter, unconnected with ourselves and others, little busy bodies who promise to make time later and never get there. Our hearts are full, but our schedules make it so easy to dance alone, blowing kisses and throwing one-handed hugs.

Stopping to tell a story, beautiful and sad, risking a tear in the middle of the aisle, connects hearts and creates another strand of that wonderful web that makes life worth living. In being so open and honest, so rarely have I felt regret, earning instead most often a solid and lingering hug. Revisiting old friends in Oregon after twenty years was an astounding affirmation that no matter the size of my bank account, some risks have paid off handsomely.

So with head stuffed and throat sore, I recognize my symptoms are from a cause far deeper than a simple virus. I openly feel the fear that this journey towards creativity which I have undertaken is an ill-advised mountain to climb, likely unattainable to the degree I desire, given the need for tuition and braces I face. I wrestle with the joy and pain of opening my heart and settling this week for a song, the writing of which leaves me slumped, sick and emotionally exhausted, but relishing the sweet mixture of rain and sun that washes over us every day.

And I am so grateful to have such friends with whom I can share the truth of how I feel.

How are you today?

Please share with your friends

Tweet

Dancing in the Rain

A year ago, I worried that I was way over the hill and would be unable to accomplish much at this later stage of life. Most artists and writers have done their best work by midlife and coast along, especially in this generation, on talk shows and tours, recycling their old thoughts. Even though I never expected to write a single song or sing a note even close to on-key at anytime in my life, as a kid with nothing to lose, I could let the sounds in my head flow, and delightfully discovered I enjoyed playing what came out.

It was an added bonus when others seemed to like the songs as well. I stood on stage to share the music with others, but mostly because I just adored the feeling of the notes amplified and turned back on me in the most gentle and exhilerating of embraces, being able to adjust and sharpen the sound with a little trill. I have been immensely flattered and moved whenever I got a request for a particular song.

One of the highest compliments came one day back in college when I was in the middle of the usual rush of traffic to the mailroom before lunch (this is before computers and email, you have to understand, when we lived for letters in the mailbox). I heard someone in front of me whistling a familiar tune and was astounded a few notes later to recognize that it was actually one of mine, living a life of its own out in somebody else's head!

If I didn't think it was such a miracle to be able to bring this music to the surface, I would feel compelled to craft and manipulate these songs, but as it is, I humbly accept that there is a power that seems to find voice through me, and I continue to do my best to stay out of the way and let them flow. That being said, I have been blessed with a new one, for someone special, which can be heard here.

We cannot control our own feelings, and it is certainly impossible to control what someone else might feel, but that we can feel at all is another miracle. It is wonderful to let go of fear, and risk to really feel whatever flows in and out of the heart, all the joys and pain, finding sunshine on rainy days.

Dancing in the Rain

I don’t know what you’re thinking
But I hear the words you say
They send my heart sinking
Like the sun at the end of the day
And I can’t say for sure if it will rise again
And I can’t say for sure if I can just be your friend

Well, I bargained for this lesson
When I dared to open my heart
Your smiles keep me guessing
Though you’ve been so very clear right from the start
Still I fell for that sweet look in your eye
And I can tell it’s worth any tears I might cry

And there’s no need to worry if my heart’s going to heal
We both know the sun always rises again
I could never regret learning just how good this can feel
To know the wonders of love you’ve got to risk a little pain
It’s like dancing, dancing in the rain

So let’s get on with the living
After we've shared this little cry
Life’s all about the giving
To find love in our heart we have to be willing to try
I’m so glad I’ve gotten to know you this well
And I’m so glad, I feel like dancing
Feel like dancing, feel like dancing, dancing in the rain

I’m looking for sunshine, and I like dancing in this soft rain

Please share with your friends

Tweet

Uncached

Over the weekend, I received an uncharacteristic phone call from the other guitarist in Cache. The night before, we had played at a private party, the very first time in front of anybody, and though it was hard to hear, lacking all the right equipment, I was pleased and excited with the blends and the confidence that grew with every song.

But there was a clue in his message, a phrase about hearts and minds, that tipped me off, so it was no surprise the next day to get a follow-up message that I had been voted out of the band. My initial reaction was a bit of a snivelly little boy whine (“…they don’t like me, boo hoo”), followed by a defensive snort (“…well, I’ll show them!”).

The truth, I told my son a few minutes later as we fiddled around with instruments in a music store, is very understandable and should be expected. If it is so difficult and takes such time, effort, risk and patience to find a girlfriend, multiply that by four and remember that everyone has to get along with everyone else.

Each member of Cache contacted me individually to express their respect and support for my music. Their insistence that I should be pursuing my songs whole-heartedly without distraction removed much of the sting. They felt I would do better staying focused and not side-tracked trying to accommodate the taste and directions of others.

Hrrrummmmph!

It was a curious burst of emotion to absorb, especially on my birthday and combined with a similar heart throb that stole my breath for a little in the afternoon. Each event, however, was so full of appreciation and the promise of wonderful, exciting and ever unfolding adventure, like getting comfortable with not seeing any whale spouts, I found the joy in the day and reveled in the sunshine and companionship that was right in front of me, enjoying the best birthday ever.

Sharpened and inspired, the next morning I immediately placed an ad and scoured Craig's List for potential matches. Like the search for a date, I looked at bios and pictures, listened to voices, wondering how that keyboard might sound, judging this style too punkish for me, that finger too fast and wiggly.

Quickly, I received a message back from a young drummer who was very enthusiastic about the sound, my sound, and had some impressive local credentials, having already played with people more known than little old me. Emails turned into phone calls, and his excitement hurdled my concerns over his age and maturity.

On the way to the audtion in his home, I still had low expectations because he is just graduating high school, after all, and getting a driving lesson from his mom. Into the first song, however, it was clear that he paid a lot more attention to his drums than a car. By the third song, I was amazed by his ability to read my body language and change the beat as the song stopped short or raced ahead. By the sixth, we were rocking like we had played music together for months, his flourishes and rolls perfect on the crescendos and backed off on the verses.

Two hours flew by faster than most fifteen minutes. In the same way I might peek in and introduce myself to a new friend of my own son, his mother came down to say she liked the music, and was relieved, I imagine, to see the kind of man who might soon be taking her son to dark (and no longer smokey!) bars.

Other drummers, I know, are available, but my intuition tells me Ian is worth the risk. So the landscape of my musical avenue has changed as radically as the highways we traveled last week in Oregon, my vision turned sideways and re-routed, but more focused and immediately achieving a more stimulating result.

Likewise, by having the intuition to trust me so quickly to frame her paintings, a marvelous woman has also contributed to this lesson that the ones who do actually reveal themselves are able to honor, support and hold precious, with leviathan strength, our creative journeys no matter how young, or beautifully petite, these whales may appear.

Please share with your friends

Tweet

Sweating the Details

When I worried about how to ground the energy of this trip once returned home and buried in the daily details of living, I had not paid attention to my calendar.

The very next evening, still jet-lagged, I went with a friend to a lecture by Dr. Yonten, a Tibetan healer who talked about the mind/body connection. This gentle man, soft-spoken with a delightful laugh, related the health of the physical body to the spiritual well-being of a patient. Emotional pain can radically affect how well the body functions and be more a cause of disease than any bacteria or virus.

This subject has become important to me as my doctor friend and I embark on a venture to write about alternatives to standard medical practices for healing. His own experience in the hospital has been life-altering and motivated us to move from theory to actual words on paper. The more we articulate the idea, the more contacts we have with people like Dr. Yonten.

The next day, I returned for a consultation, not suffering from any particular aliment, but curious to learn what could be prescribed to alieve the emotional stress in my body over these many years of failing business and struggling marriage. He received me in the side office of the Sanctuary where he had lectured, listened to my story, felt my pulse and looked at my tongue, then dealt me a month’s worth of Himalayan herbs that taste horrible, but are predicted to cleanse my chakras. My heart certainly felt calmer in his comforting presence.

On this glorious spring Saturday morning, as buds burst and snow is forgotten, a leader of my men’s group hosted a traditional Native American sweat lodge. Starting early to cut the sticks to bend in the frame and the logs to heat the rocks, there was much work to be done, and the men set to it mindfully. Every aspect of the event was ceremonial and full of ritual, providing a long opportunity to meditate in motion.

Once the lodge was built, covered and blessed, and the fire set ablaze, the ten of us lounged in quiet conversation. I played some music to accompany the peaceful hours, and we nibbled on nuts and oranges until it was time to enter the sacred space.

Ritual directed all the movements; there was order to everything. The fire was due east of the door, connected by a pathway that could not be crossed except by a man carrying the rocks, glowing with heat, carefully on a pitch fork. The actual sweat lasted about three hours, the ten of us circled around a pit, shrouded in absolute darkness, surrounded by the powerful smells of sage, sweet and bitter roots, cedar and lavender. Water created steam and our bodies were purged of toxins, our spirits purified.

The process allowed for guided acknowledgement of the life force energies around us, opportunities to celebrate our victories and pray for the souls of loved ones we know are suffering, and commitments of intention in our own lives. We sat vigilant in the darkness, breathing deeply, heavily rooted to the circle of brotherhood that contained us.

Cleansed and liberated this evening, I am content to sit alone, resting from all of the spiritual encounters of this past week. I suck on the muddy herbs of the Himalaya and rinse my mouth with hot water, contemplative and peaceful.

It is marvelous that boundaries are collapsing, allowing us to experiment with a mixture of philosophies, cultures and practices. In a very short time, I have walked with pagans, meditated with a Tibetan, sweated with new warriors of integrity, and played music at a raucous party in a garage. Life is full of spirit around every corner if we just make sure we slow down enough to notice.

Please share with your friends

Tweet