I know, I know, but we have to call it something.
I was having the usual midweek ZoukFest freak-out. All that exposure to transcendental musicianship, wow! Or oy… On the one hand it was like swallowing holy razor blades, while on the other hand, the antidote for same. At first I started auguring in, like a fighter pilot in a spin — it wasn’t just the overwhelming musical talent, but all my friends were educated and erudite, too. I always thought I was, but somewhere along the line I gave up books for mapping my inner potholes — not that I ever had a choice in that, as I’d blown out all my tires and was riding on the rims. This exploration takes a lot of time, however, which is why my wife sometimes complains there isn’t any room for her. Books would sure be easier on the lady, I have to say.
Anyway, there I was, ready once again to send my parents’ wretched souls to everlasting burning hell for being so damned scared and useless and teaching me to fold. The way this thing isn’t supposed to turn out is that I think about my life at 62 and wonder if it’s all for shit: whom did I help, how did I make a difference, what did I have to show for it all? I could’ve been a Michelanglo, but everything is all fucked up, I’m getting old, and of course it’s someone else’s fault. It always is, except it’s NOT!
And then the transcendental musicianship began to earn its name. The razor blades dissolved and went down easily. A giant relaxation seemed slowly to enfold me. I realized that maybe the purpose of this life for me wasn’t to paint or write a masterpiece but just to be okay. To HEAL myself, forgodssakes, to touch the flaming love of All There Is while the memories fall away. When this doesn’t get passed down with your DNA, when you don’t get zapped upside the heart with holy mojo goodness ’cause your mommy and your daddy love you more than life itself, then you have to find it on your own or take up ugly habits. What happened to me on Wednesday night was I felt like I was off the hook: if all I did from there on out was tell people how much I loved them (when I felt it), that was plenty. For me, I mean. The karmic debt was so enormous, paying it down was ring-the-bells HUGE. In other words, being happy was enough.
This was revolutionary. My God, what if everybody felt this way? The music moved me and I told the performers that it had. I walked up to others that I hardly knew and shared a friendly thought. Before I knew it, people were saying nice things about me as well. I emailed my wife to ask if this was how it was among the sane, and she said “YES!!!”
Yeah, yeah. I came home three days later, had a fit, and wrecked the car, so what.
I remember the last time I climbed a mountain, don’t I?