Thursday, March 30, 2006

Lady Primavera

Spring has taken on a much different meaning to me lately, and fitting since it has just occurred. Today feels like lady Primavera has finally visited this part of the world.
My feeling is if I was still depressed I would be weeping on my floor right now, not out of sadness or self-pity, but how I feel so undeserved of anything around me. The Vienna Concert playing in my room right now doesn't help either... in a good way, though.
Some are blessed with the ability to improvise in a completely structured way, yet they still aren't pinned to earth. Keith Jarrett is one of those people. To anyone who isn't farmiliar with him they'd probably get the immediate impression that everything he was playing was entirely thought out if they weren't told they were improvisations beforehand. I had a difficult time believing it myself.
I slept for a couple of hours earlier today and had a dream with Katie Weygand in it. She's a good egg, that Watie Keygand.
Good news! I have disability insurance. Or almost anyway. I made the call earlier today. This means I get money if I break a bone or have to spend time in the hostpital as a result of an unfortunate mishap at my job.
I am utterly detatched right now, despite what it may seem. My father has made leaps and bounds of understanding as a result of the near death in Florida. We've had a few long discussions since then, one took place earlier this morning. He just walked in so I was snapped out of my train of thought. Nevermind then.
Sitting out on the balcony today made me think of Virginia in all its glory, and I realized (once again) how much I love it there. If I wanted to move down there right now I could. My cousin lives in a nice big apartment and has even told me I could probably have a job in construction because a friend of hers is in that line of work, and my aunt has told me repeatedly that she'd love for me to live down there. Does this mean I will? Not at all. There is too much here for me at the moment for me to even think about going anywhere else. I plan to do some sort of travel eventually. Could be in the next couple of years, few years, ten, twenty, not sure. But it will happen. Well if I haven't done any by twenty I think that would prove my desire isn't really strong enough to go anywhere else. It is though, so forget twenty and probably even ten.
We, as a race of beings, have become caught up in trying to "do". As we are we cannot do. We have not awoken and most of us probably never will, but there is a hope. There are those moments when we find ourselves feeling "alive", but we fall back to sleep again. We drift in and out of our dozy state only to be woken up occasionally by a miraculous shot to the heart but we inevitably forget, again and again and again. In other words, as is said, "We begin again, constantly." This is becoming overwhelmingly clear and is the root source of all unhappiness and confusion. Man strives all his life to create because it is the prime example of our desire to be like God, whether we accept it or not. Man creates and creates and is never pleased because he denies his essence in God and his likeness to him. He creates selfishly for his own pleasure and is never pleased. If only we could direct our attention upward to something greater, where this creativity stems in the first place, perhaps there would be a chance of true redemption. Some have achieved this. Some have dedicated their lives to it, have given up everything they know and love, all worldly things for it. "A man may be born, but in order to be born he must first die, and in order to die he must first awake. When a man awakes he can die; when he dies he can be born." Does this mean die physically? No, it means to deny yourself. "If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me."-Christ, Gospel of Luke. To except your nothingness, as Gurdjieff says, is to accept our complete and absolute mechanicalness and our complete and absolute helplessness. As we are we should not be pleased with ourselves, but rather horrified at nearly all that we are, at all the different "I's" in each one of us. These must be destroyed first for any act of conscious good to take place. Very very rarely they are set aside and the permanent "I" can be seen within yourself, but this ends quickly and we forget almost immediately. This absolute "I" can be reached only if every other "I" is killed, and then work may begin. These "I's" are destroyed when honesty enters the act of music, the act of prayer, and and the act of listening to The Absolute. "Egotism is a pathological self-obsession, a reaction to anxiety about whether one really does count... unlike egotism, the drive to significance is a simple extension of the creative impulse of God that gave us being. It is not filtered through self-consciousness any more than is our lunge to catch a package falling from someone's hand. It is outwardly directed to the good to be done. We were built to count, as water is made to run downhill. We are placed in a specific context to count in ways no one else does. That is our destiny."-Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy. To speak of these things is far far easier than to approach them with a true desire to know and find out for oneself, but at least that is beginning.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Time Stands Still

Once in a great while, perhaps more often for some, an inexpressible shift happens in the creative process that reminds you of your fragile everday state, yet reminds you even more of the ability you can have if you allow the force, no matter how terrifying it may be at first, to move. To get to this state, one must put aside his or her ego, stubbornness, pride, and overall self in general. To arrive at this and be able to control it , only to use when it is necessary, must take a far longer time then I've been struggling with it. Possibly, even longer than I've been alive. So how to get to a point, at the very least, where you can become detatched enough for this to happen, if only for the briefest of moments?
A rare, yet always hoped for occurrence took place quite unexpectedly last night. Niles informed me that he found his "black bag" o' chords and cables last night. We decided to set up at the church and try to record something, since that failed last Friday. We at first set out to create something to the degree of what happens on Sunday mornings before the service that always seems to turn out incredible, yet we never have the opportunity to record. As soon as that was established, the possibility of music like that being created seemed less likely, since we spoke of it beforehand. Nevertheless, we began.
There's a level that one reaches which is not attainable unless one sets him or herself aside. The first ground level when attempting to join in the act of music is simply playing what you know. Good results rarely come from this. The second (and very exhilerating) level occurs when one plays what he or she does not know. This is when one gets a glimpes of something greater, but it is passive. The third (from my experience) is detatching oneself from the act in such a way that it is "completely impersonal yet utterly intimate". Conceivably, one can manage to have some level of control over this, but I have not found it yet, so I wont speak of it.
Normally, when I know that little record button has been hit, I tend to flag. This was a rare, and probably the first, occasion that the little button didn't matter. For many minutes we drifted through something that we have often charted before. As it unfolded the construction itself became more apparent and felt easier to stand in front of. I'm not sure how it shifted into something that was so fitting, but it did, and I was in no place to argue. When this shift presents itself, time is suspended. What felt like 2 minutes, yet at the same time felt endless, turned out to be, in real time, around 15 minutes. I would've never guessed. Can't prove the suspension, but it can be experienced.

"There is a necessary freedom within the subordinate parts of the Creation, that the creation might be creative. This is our freedom: that, if we wish, we may co-operate with the unfolding Creation.
This freedom is our right as human beings.
This freedom is also our obligation as human beings.
The price to be paid for this freedom is to honor the obligation.
The reward for honoring this obligation is freedom." -Robert Fripp

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Throzinblux ii blastiss

"Silence is an echo of the presence of God."-RF

There are few moments when one realizes what someone meant when they say something like that. Those moments can often, and very easily, escape the grasp of one who wishes to know what it means. It is becoming evident over these recent days the power that silence can have. In the company of a person or a space left open between notes. There is all the freedom in the world but we can rarely do anything with it. To build a bridge between that silence is one of the most difficult construction tasks we could ever attempt. To truly master it would be more difficult than trying to build a house for yourself and by yourself with no knowledge of woodwork whatsoever. How to capture the music as it flies by unbidden to be able to use it again is nearly impossible. Perhaps it's the same within those silent gaps in the midst of someone else, and maybe that's why to capture anything seems to take so long, but is so rewarding when it flies by.
Short post, but it is late.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Cold wind today.

"Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does, the better."
-Andre Gide

I think there are very few people that actually know what "cold" really is. To walk from your car to your house isn't really feeling the 20 degrees with the 2 degree windchill. If you're out and about in it for 7 hours, then you really start to get the idea of what cold is.
A terribly exhausting couple of days has passed, and I am happy they are done.
I wish I had the ability to actually speak to someone properly, unfortunately this is harder than it should be for me. To overthink for me is an entry into loss, and I happen to do that often. I can't really write cohesively either. Each sentence sort of stands as its own topic.
I have not yet found the ability to practice, to play, to assist, to lead, to stay quiet, or to hold back juuuuust the right amount. Cursed are these hands of mine, disobeying my mind all willy-nilly. And cursed is my mind, for not stepping into its position as leader.
Niles has explained Project Octave to me further, and I am even more intrigued now. As soon as the words "It could sound like you were inside of a piano", were said, I was an excited boy. But what to do with the rest of it? That will happen when it happens. I asked if perhaps a delay loop setup was possible for the guitar that would run on each of the 8 speakers as each note swelled, but he didn't think so. Darn.
What stops me from doing the things that I have hoped to do? I'm not sure I'll ever know, but doing them seems too difficult. If I can't find a very very good reason for performing a task, it feels utterly wasteful. A "pouring from the empty into the void", as it were. This has carried on far too long and far too deep in my own personal goals, and is becoming a terrifying setback. If it were possibly for me to truly have will, to really be able to choose what to do and why in every situation I was faced with, things would perhaps be alot more tolerable. Unfortunately not many of us are blessed with this gift of will, or even the gift to try to attain it. A falling out of mind, body, and spirit is necessary once in a while when one hasn't attained a higher level of being, and I seem to frequent this falling out all too often.
The air is far too bitter to be walking about, but I wish I could. The graveyard uptown is such a peaceful place at night. I say this with no intention of being morbid or "dark". Quite simply, graveyards are just a nice place to have a walk in.
A practice earlier I was all too unworthy of was given to me, and a gentle lulling into despair has been given to follow. Not a heavy despair. A mournful despair perhaps? No, not mournful.
How does one play music? How could one be able to "play" such a force, to control such a power? It is impossible. Absolutely impossible. And why, then, are we given glimpses as to what the possibilities are within it? I don't know yet, and to find out would require effort that I may not be able to give.

"Expectation is a prison."-Robert Fripp.