Quadruple Booked!/ Concluding the Week of Tears

A new Elijah Bewilderedly Guinness record, ladies and gents!

I quadruple booked myself this afternoon.

And I had the opportunity to make it a quintuple, but for Tom's sake I denied the possible Boston City Band gig which I'd been offered.

Here's the four:
A creative meeting for my friend Sunny Kim's recital: 12-2pm
A 'day' at my teacher Warren's house singing and working: approx. 12-6pm
An usher gig at school 2-6pm
and three free tickets to Durufle's Requiem Op. 9 in Cambridge 3-5pm

I chose not the most 'responsible' route, but the most enjoyable one for sure:
I hung out with Sunny and showed up to the concert in time for the Durufle.

Normally, I probably would've dipped the free concert first, but you must understand how much I love this piece of music.  Durufle's Requiem is one of those holy works of art that turns me into a weeping mess, every single time.    Seeing as this past week was all about turning into a weeping mess, I pounced on the opportunity to conclude my week so appropriately.

Got my roommate to cover my shift, put Warren off 'til Tuesday.

So off to Cambridge I went with a great book to read, plenty of water, and Durufle's score.

When I got there Handle's Coronation was crowning away.   I traded me some Handle for some sunshine and sat outside to write and prep my spirit for the Durufle.

I ended up staring at drips in a puddle for about 10 minutes and jotting down this:

Embracing chaos... transcribing the chaos of your being.

It's alright to be (anything!) afraid. Just one thing: DON'T MISS IT! watch it. love it. sit with it. treat it like a beautiful, curious child and answer its every question.

[at this point the clouds and the sun were changing the colors of this puddle scene every few seconds]

revel in art until it breaks you and then watch God make art
then just be God.

---------------------

Centered on the Divine I sat down, score in hand. 

When the tears came (in three VERY specific spots, by the way) I noticed how utterly physical of a response it was.    It came right up from my groin. My stomach had the sensation of being speared, impaled by the beauty  . From there on up it just tore away at my insides. My ribs, my throat, my jaw, all clenched... or maybe not clenched, just fully engaged as if every cell in my body was suddenly put on emergency.   It finally blasted up through my eyes and out the top of my head. Salty tears, snots and all.

Now I think I understand a little more why this 'hurts' so much. The body isn't used to functioning like this!(yet...)   It is too much take in at once. But in small bursts, it is a great fire that cleans me out, heals me.

and I'm so grateful.


Here's one of those 3 spots for all you guitarists curious enough.
Try to imagine basses, cellos and violas.

I'll write out every beat.
A period (.) means "sustain the note just played".

It is slow, sweet, dolce, and very ligato. Maybe add some vibrato. Everything's very much connected, but don't leave notes from the previous chord ringing unless noted by the (.)
It ritards at the very end.

e-------------------------------------------------------------------2--0--4--.
b------------------------------------2--5--------------2---5 --2--0--2--5--.
g-------------2------------2--4--2--2--4--4------2----2--4---2--2--4--6--.
d--4--2--4--2--4--.--2---2--4--2--2--4--4---4--2----2--4---2------------
a--4--2--4--2--4--.--2--- 2--4--2--------4---4--2-------------------------
e--5--2--5-----5--0--2------------------------5----------------------------

The Monsignor

Powdery white dust falling slowly on my head has made me all hot inside like choking back Patience when the tips of your ears begin to swelter with unexplainable rage. The thoughts have a soft darkness to them like easing up to the next flight. Everything is Alright. Promise.
 
Eric Lamont Rey
Still...The Monsignor

-------------------------------------------

To speak from silver...

How can I keep my word, this Promise,
when it races away from my lips?
Was it ever mine to begin with?  
Tis fair to note I moved some air and
it wiggled your ear drum, but
the hum from my thought speed
hit you a trillion years ago
before either of us entered
this current flow just might re-mind that
once upon a time
chaos and order were good friends
still are without end
sincerly,
the flutist

Dancing and Living Part II

Last night I went to an awesome student recital. My friend Adam Clark, a ridiculous drummer, had spun a musical tapestry based on the idea of trinity. There were trios, funky 3 upon 3 rhythms, program notes describing every mystical trinity symbolism in human history, and 3 sets. The 3 sets were labeled: spirit, mind, and body.

I showed up in time for the beginning of the "mind" set harboring a pretty funky mindset. I had just been slaving away at another project for my "career skills" class and was not quite prepared to enjoy this music. Of course I tried to get into it, but my insides were churning out too much chich for me to actually hear a damn thing.

I tried to it cool down during the second intermission, but all I ended up doing was having a few vague conversations- all of which inspired me to think about more random bullshit.

Then the "body" set began with a nice reggae groove. I bopped around a little in my seat in the back of the room as I searched for any other signs of activity in the otherwise stilled audience. And there he was, off in the far right corner getting his little groove on... Hankus Netsky!

[Hankus Netsky was the first teacher I met from NEC when I first visited this school back in the fall of 2001. I went to a Jewish Music Ensemble concert he directed and danced my ass off!] Seeing Hankus dancing in the corner instantly reminded me of the person I was back then (a person I've been struggling so hard lately to get to know again...). For a brief moment, I felt my courage come back. I shimmied over to Hankus, kicked off my shoes, and discovered a little right leg wiggle on beat 3.

Ah, but I was still thinking and churning smoke out of my ears. Still in the correlation of Hankus and my past selves, still in the nervous planning of my recital next month, still in blah, blah blah, blah blah blah, blah. Sadly, there was no room for some real dancing to take place and before I knew it Hankus had left. I was alone with a pretty lifeless right leg wiggle. The song ended and I clapped, secretly praying it might have been the finale so that I wouldn't have to suffer again.

Then Adam brings up the 12 piece Afro-Beat jazz orchestra:

4 (FOUR!!?!!) percussionists, bass, guitar, keys, and a host of horns from the balls of a bari sax to the nipple tips of a trumpet.

[Holy Shit!!]

I just wasn't even prepared!

Only a few moments later a hellacious groove began that was ...... so..... deliciously......

Saaaaaah..... LLLLLLLLL......Ooooooooo.....Wwwwwah.

It just crept in it at a drunken snail's pace.
I'm talking a good 4 or 5 minutes of serious introductiary grooblication.

After about 30 seconds my mind, who until this time had been wholly in control of the organism,

PANICKED!!!!

My toes were wigglin', my toe hairs were vibratin', my legs were twitching and tossing my helpless feet like rag dolls, my hips were shakin', my breathing grew full and heavy, my heart raced, my throat screamed, my arms flailed, my fingers pulsed, .......

(... you see, when one walks directly into a free-floating pocket of funk, the body becomes infused with the funk and, therefore, funks accordingly.)

In its final desperation my bewildered mind held tightly to my eyes, searching in vain for another dancer. But the crowd was motionless! Totally motionless! "This is a crime!!!!! How can this BE?!?!" Oh, great... so now I also have my Aquarian ideals (and my empathy for these hard-playing groove creators) reeling alongside some uncomfortably placed fears and a bursting body explosion. I was splitting apart and frothing away at the beams, feeling simultaneously joyous, scared, furious, righteous, sexy, thirsty, nervous, intoxicated and powerful.

Finally, it was my heart that broke:

I ran out into crowd sending finger tendrils across the heads and shoulders of audience members. I danced harder and harder and as the horn melody finally came in I began throwing unused chairs out of the way, thrashing wildly about. I was pouring my joy into these people along with the joy in this incredible music and still no one budged.

I kept it up (I had to) and eventually Tom Arabia put down his horn and joined me in absurd celebration. [From nothing comes something comes the myriad things...] Once there was two of us we were joined by a few others and then by a host of newcomers led by Ethan Philbrick who walked into the room (pocket o' funk) already mid-boogie. Soon, we had taken out the first 3 rows and the 12 piece band hand suddenly tripled in size.

After the music stopped I could hardly function, nevermind talk. I just wildly hugged anyone who came into my fuzzy field of vision and tried to thank them. I began to cry, heartbreak rushing out in waves.

I wonder why it is so beautifully painful to be fully alive?


A Quick Dancin' Ditty

Sweet dancin' feet
how I love you so,
If you weren't around
then on my knees I'd go.

I'd dance about the floor
and spin around on a stump,
discover God without legs
like Lieutenant Dan (Forrest Gump).

Singin' in the Rain

I was rummaging through memories,
looking for a clue
when I stumbled across this the other day:

"... some people are annoyed by my dancing. Perhaps these are the same kind of people who are annoyed by the rain." - Julie Pereira, Bubble Sword Dancing in the Shastric Tradition

When it rained the next day this quote, of course, came leaping back to mind as I walked down my street to catch a train.   Inspired, I did a little twirl and grinned up at the sky.
I found myself laughing and crying all at the same time.

 I hadn't felt that alive in awhile.

A bit o' beauty

Yesterday, I had a lesson with my Hindustani singing teacher Warren Senders. He held his newborn baby, Sharada, in his arms while we sang together. He was dancing around with her, moving her around the the shapes of his melodies.   She eventually drifted off to sleep as we explored what Warren later called an "a musical version of an Esherian tessellation".    It was a stunningly beautiful experience. I love singing, and newborns, and singing & newborns!

The Day of Two Wonderful Pops

So, I had this HUGE ugly and painful zit....
of all places, right in between my eyes.

It had been simmering for a good couple weeks in a constant state of irritation due to my frequent use of swimming goggles. Whenever I drank out of a cup the top rim would bump it causing me to wince. No fun.

Satrday night I even had trouble sleeping it was so bad. Rolling around or catching the slightest bit of covers caused my nerves to fire out, "Hey buddy! Wake up and listen to this!" Although I'd sworn not to lay my pop-hungry fingers on it, I tried desperately to alleviate some of the pressure. The bastard wouldn't pop!!! It just got more angry and buried and painful.

I awoke Sunday morning groggy and determined. I stared down my nemeses... oh wait, that's just the crossed- eyes.... umm.. I mean, my nemesis... and I pounced with my pinchers of peril! There was no mercy this time. I squeezed as hard as I could until it popped all over the mirror with the terrific sound like a BB gun. Its pus splattered broadly onto a stereoscopic landscape.

Relief! Ah, such sweet relief!
By lunch it was a mere scab on a lumpy piece of utterly relaxed flesh and I was a happy man.

And by suppertime, I was a happy man for not one, but TWO wonderful pops:

I finally parted ways with the band "Frankpipe".


I had been teetering on whether or not I wanted to continue playing in this band for so long.  I had some much trouble accepting such a simple truth: I didn't want to play anymore.

The problem was, of course, I kept trying to come up with reasons.
I drove myself totally CRAZY thinking about this ONE THING!!!!
Totally batty, bonkers, out there, looney bin- Crazy.
I've learned that my brain will come up with more garbage than lies in the waters beyond Long Island if I give it the chance to. I literally spent most of my weekend pondering it and pondering how I've been pondering it and anaylizing the amount of time I spent pondering as compared to the time I've actually been involved in Frankpipe-like experiences. Oh my.. it was pretty bad.

In the end, all I had to do was look in my heart and say, "Ok heart, what do you think about all this."
And the beautiful thing is... the heart doesn't think. It just beats along and keeps you going, keeps you moving forward, keeps your blood going. It is connected to your head by a vast network of channels: nerves, hormones, blood vessels, chemical exchanges... but it either beats perfectly in sync with your brainwaves or it doesn't.

There's such simple knowing in your heart.

After that, it was easy. Like water. Reactions flowed, simple words spoken, heavy emotions curbed, music was exchanged, on an on... all effortless movements.
Pop! and then relief was felt by all.

Listening to my heart more lately has been incredible. There been so much beauty and lightness and surrender. It's been a such difference from the clenching I experienced in the past year. I am very grateful for this.

I am also quite curious. I wonder where my heart will lead me and what other large leaps it has in store.
As a write this, there's a huge pimple forming right above the middle of my sternum.