Plato’s Groove with Aaron Dick free-styling on the keys
A little over two years ago I began to feel in a totally new direction. Ego shattered, directionless, like falling in a dream. There was nothing solid to cling to. I began to slowly try things that seemed odd to my old self. Something called me into a new way of being a me. My hair grew outside the older restrictions I had placed on it along with my Soul. In this new and strange land I began to find solid and hauntingly familiar steps to take. It was like coming home to a place I had never been. I had written this piece some years before but it had no voice. I had some vague wish that somehow my very talented children might take up my writing and give it life but that was not for them to do. I remember how nervous I was when Aaron started playing how strange it was for me to attempt it. A couple glasses of red wine helped and we created this together. I began to find my voice, even if it was timid and unsure, it was heard. Now I do this and more on a weekly basis and think very little about it. What was dangerous and new has become comfortable. What I know though is that there are new worlds I need to explore and inhabit still. I also know that moving from this horizon to the next will feel exactly like it did before I came here. And I will never figure it out before I get there. It is only in the going that I will know.
The clock ticks.
It fades in and out of my awareness.
The clock ticks.
Marking Time as It winds down to finally rest in Eternity.
The clock ticks.
Independent, without regard It plucks the very strings of the Cosmos.
The clock ticks.
Time now divided makes meter possible and cadence contingent.
The clock ticks.
The fabric of possibility is woven, lining the womb that is time.
The clock ticks.
Sacred Space emerges between the beats of past and future. Seeds can only be sown in the Now.
The clock ticks.
Slumbering Soul, never at rest, seeks completion of Its’ chord unresolved.
The clock ticks.
All existence is in motion, potential, moving toward harmony or dissonance, creativity or chaos, Life or death.
The clock ticks.
The metronome beats out the call to choose or not to choose. Both require a choice.
The clock ticks.
Whether background or fore, whether conscious or dreaming, It makes possible the awareness of Plato’s Groove.
The clock ticks.
Out of the shadows Life calls to life. There is underlying order within the chaos. The pilgrim seeks that which has always been hidden within view.
The clock ticks.
The artist’s heart does not create ex nihilo but rather chooses one and not the other, manifesting particular harmonies that resonate and call them into Being.
The clock ticks.
To act or refrain from motion is the artist’s prerogative. Variation ads pigment, or not, to the evolving tapestry.
The clock ticks.
Soul becomes more harmonious; at rest in the body, powerful its resonance with the Real. Dissonance no longer a mystery to be feared but rather consciously strummed to accentuate and more clearly articulate the Soul’s growing chorus.
The clock ticks.
Oh, Traveler strain through the dissonance to hear the notes which resonate with the pattern of your soul. Choose it at the cost of all others.
The clock ticks.
The clock ticks.
The clock ticks.
Each Soul’s resolution is to cultivate and balance It’s own polytonic sound in preparation for joining the romp with all other pure souls in harmony, dance, in art, in mathematics, and all other lenses through which we glimpse the mystery of the Eternal celebration that is Life.
I got to the garden Saturday and the tomatoes were so overgrown that I could not see to pick the fruit. The vines were all tangled and were producing so many stems and leaves that air could not circulate. Not really problems, just the result of healthy plants doing what they do. So I set about to untangle and trim what was not needed, again.
Whew! Now I can see and it was like the plants took a long slow deep breath. I got about ten pounds of Tomatoes and three Eggplants. The grape ones are sweet like sugar. Perfect fruit produced within that tangled mess. It is kinda how I am feeling lately. I am busy reaching out to the artsy folk in our area. It is a different world for me. For the last 20 years or so I have worked as “Redneck Headshrink” in a rural county in Alabama. I do individual and family therapy. My multicultural specialities are crackheads, convicts, and Baptists. I am in private practice and contract with the Courts and Schools and Family/Child Services. Typically the referrals are abuse/neglect cases involving drugs, sex and/or rock and roll. I handle most of the domestic violence and drug cases related to children. The cool thing is that one can find perfect fruit growing, even there. But like with the tomatoes they can be easily missed if the overgrowth is not cleared frequently. I have been in that county now long enough that I am on the third generation of some of these families. Along with the ugliness and pain I have witnessed the miraculous in the power of life and hope to overcome what many only know about in theory or the Lifetime channel. These people have taught me poetry as I do it. I have always thought of poetry as the dire urgent need to bring some kind of order and beauty out of ugliness and chaos. I understand real therapy as entering into another’s world with my own imperfections and together creating some meaning, some hope, some beauty.
It is similar with my new jazzy experiments. Me and the guys have been getting together every week to explore our creative combinations. There are different people each week and every week it is different. There are so many different ways it can go. Like with growth in therapy or life in general there is always the ambiguity, anxiety, risk, and then discovering what is groovy, what works. There is a since of “yes” that is the truth. It feels right and alive. If one manages the anxiety then beauty emerges from the unknown, the chaotic on its own. It is not created, it is found or discovered. I am currently reminded to quit trying to figure it out and just go. Explore the unknown cause if the known contained what was needed there would already be rest. In that we still desire there is more to discover. The groove can not be predicted and planned only discovered as we go out not knowing.
One other little thing. Brace up and spend time on what is producing. The Eggplants and Peppers were leaning over because of all the fruit on them. What is working for you right now? Make sure and give it some attention and it will continue to produce in its season. Cut back the overgrowth. Let go of busyness and hangers on and that which is in the way. Remember that perfection may not look perfect and can emerge from what seems to be chaotic if given room to breathe. Tend your garden but remember ultimately there are powerful friendly forces at work which have plans for your good and not evil. Be Groovy!
This is a short clip of Mr. Chuck King. He is one of the most gracious souls I know. He is philosophical, yet likes to laugh. He is profoundly talented yet remains a student. He is helping me find my groove. Thank you Chuck!
I had not looked at Her in a while. I did this evening. She was still there. Nothing had changed though. I felt Her pull. Guess its there whether I look or not. As I gazed at Her I remembered my favorite moon song. I will play it for Her. It is perfect. It is magic. Makes me wish I could write. Be Groovy!
