Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Which thought should I follow?
Suddenly, a flurry of thoughts, all begging to be written down, after almost a month of quiet. . .where do I begin?
Do I begin with my journey home tonight from sitting in meditation after a week of intense quiet, punctuated by the sounds of frogs, wind, rain (and more rain), one movie, cars whooshing by on the wet road, the click click click of my cat's paws on the wood floor, the intense need for quiet, more quiet, fear of the loss of the quiet when Dick returned home. . .and then, as I sat for nearly 15 minutes waiting for a cool cup of iced decaf, I heard the sound of AC/DC from the truck behind me and thought, "that sounds good."
I turned the radio on to the same station. Cranked it. Cranked it more. Cranked it until my body was vibrating. I slapped my hand against the side of my car as I waited in the queue for that cup of coffee, and I noticed the guy behind me was slapping his hand against the side of his truck. He blinked his lights. I looked in my mirror and saw a truck full of smiling people (which brings to mind the last time I really saw the people in a vehicle behind me, giving me the finger, all of them). In that moment, everything was perfect. I was glad the person in front of me had some sort of trouble with his order. I would never have turned on the Mountain of Pure Rock. My need for quiet was too deep.
And then it was gone, that need. The next song up was David Bowie's "Major Tom" (is that the right name?) and I sang along at the top of my lungs, laughing at my mockery of Bowie's accent and my always-there wish to sing fantastically; HA! The next song was something awful, I don't remember what, and I fished out my iPod. This was fun! My body was vibrating. I remembered how it felt when I was at the Kripalu Center, years ago, doing yoga one late evening in an empty room, while listening to Nine Inch Nails and Soundgarden. I didn't think anyone was around. The next day, the director of the school mentioned to me that she believed I was the first person she'd ever seen or heard of doing yoga to "that" type of music. Then she smiled - she loved every minute of it.
I think I hear Enya sighing.
So, after Bowie was over and that smaltzy ballad came on, I listened to Black Hole Sun and then some White Stripes, and then Closer by Nine Inch Nails. . .ended with Purple Rain, sitting in my driveway, singing falsetto along with Prince, smiling from ear to ear. That there's a perfect song. I don't care what your tastes are. Listen to it sometime, loud, closely. Let your body feel it. Prince is a genius.
Just my opinion, mind you.
My ears are ringing now, and y'know what? It feels good. I feel fine. I want to dance, to sing, to scream out loud, to move. . .but Dick's asleep and the house is quiet, as is the road at 10:32p.m. on a Wednesday night. I'm still moving inside myself, feeling my body, feeling it in a good way, which I haven't felt in a long time. I feel great. No. I feel good. My hands are tingling. I was pumping the air with my fists. Ah, what they say is true: music soothes the savage soul (or is it beast?) Doesn't matter. Not a whit.
Oh, man, I've been asleep to the feeling of being alive in this body for too long. Pain does that to a person. They say exercise is a good antidote, but it's hard to remember when you don't feel like moving. Turn the music on! Then try to sit still. Just try.
I can't do it.
I could go on and on and there's thoughts about yesterday's post that I'd like to address, to answer what a commenter write about, to expand on it. . .oh, there's so much I'd like to say right now, but I'll stop here, I'll stop. . .I mean it. These words are tumbling out (and I'm letting them), tumbling out in a rush of blah blah blah and I figure I'd let you all see that, show you what the inside of my mind is like freed completely. And now, I'll take a breath and stop. Good night.
Photo note: A very 80's Prince.
Addendum: This past Saturday was my mother's birthday. My mother died in 1984. The week she passed away, the movie "Purple Rain" had just come out in theaters. The day after my mother died, I had to visit a lawyer to discuss technical matters, and after I did, on a beautiful sun shining high in the sky August day, I stepped into the cool dark of a movie theater to watch Purple Rain. I had loved Prince since I first saw him on the BET channel when I checked myself into a motel after trudging through a record-breaking snowstorm in Trenton, New Jersey, thinking I might die of exposure (which was possible). I have no idea if Purple Rain was a decent movie or not. Of course, I loved the music, but the film? Beats me. I sat in the theater, weeping for my mother. No one noticed, or if they did, I did not notice them noticing me. I wept and wept until there were no tears left. It took me years not to cry when I heard the song "Purple Rain", and tonight, sitting in the car, on the same kind of sultry summer night that my mother died, it felt more than wonderful to be smiling so freely and enjoying the song without any hint of sadness. Now, there are just memories, not all good, but that's okay, for that's life. I wonder if my Mom ever listened to Prince. I have no idea.
Addendum II: Go here to see a grainy video of Prince, live, performing a fairly stripped down version of Purple Rain. Why isn't he cited more often as being the amazing guitarist that he is?