(not necessarily in that order)
Wow, these thoughts on the making of music are taking me in interesting and unexpected directions! The next installment is underway but needs some time to ripen (so to speak)!
I must say that this process is causing me to revisit some fun musical memories along the way; hope I can figure out a way to convey them adequately.
Okay, so my plan was to go out on a limb and describe my theory of why devotees fall into the trap of “playing (or singing) at the same time” instead of “making music together.”
A very interesting theory it was, too. Except that something didn’t feel quite right. In fact, it felt sufficiently “off” that I asked Ramesha to read it over and tell me what he thought; basically, he really didn’t resonate with it at all. It made for a thought-provoking discussion, but now it’s 10:30 pm and…back to the drawing board!
I guess part of the problem is that my theory was a little too heady and, well, theoretical! If I distill it down to the essence, what I’m trying to understand is, to what degree do the following points impact this question of “playing (or singing) at the same time” versus “making music together.”
My hunch is that the combination of these factors might (to some degree) limit the subtle interplay and interaction between devotee members of a musical ensemble.
I’ll be perfectly honest: when I listen to some of our small groups, it sometimes feels to me that each person is an island, and the ensemble is an archipelago. In other words, they’re side by side but identifying as separate entities — like the cake ingredients in plastic baggies.
What do YOU all think?!? 🤔
…because a two-day power outage means no WiFi at home, and I didn’t have a chance to write my blog while in our (generator-powered) office.
It’s been a strange day. I wanted to include photos of the smoke-blackened skies, but for some reason I can’t do it from my phone. Oh well.
I’m grateful we’re only dealing with smoke and praying for those affected by the actual fires. 🙏
What I realize is that there are some fundamental differences in the experience of those of us who got hooked on music very early in life vs those who were drawn to participate in music after they found themselves at Ananda.
Personally, I was chomping at the bit to play piano when I was seven years old, with lessons getting under way at eight. By the age of eleven I was playing flute — in band and in duets with my best friend (Suzanne Maria Lavinia Tharp!). In a few more years I had added saxophone and was playing and touring with jazz bands. Orchestral experience didn’t come until senior year of high school, but soon enough I had abandoned the saxophone and was concentrated entirely on building a career as a classical flutist.
But the point I want to make is that starting way back in primary school, I was absorbing the principles mentioned in yesterday’s blog post. Throughout countless hours of practicing, rehearsing, listening, and performing, no one had to explain the importance of “making music together” as opposed to “playing music at the same time”. I just naturally learned to extend my “antennae” and feel it from another musician’s perspective.
Bit by bit, as I gained in experience and musical maturity, I was able to play with ensembles where we truly were like the cake ingredients: blending and blending until we were able to transcend and then merge our individual identities so they could transform into that wonderful something more.
I believe this is a major part of why musicians tend to find ourselves so deeply bonded to those with whom we “make music.” Unfortunately, when we first start out we usually don’t understand transcendence; we don’t understand that the thrill of forgetting our little selves is due to catching a glimpse of the potential for oneness that is our true reality.
Instead we get fixated on the person or people with whom we bonded through our shared experience. All too often to our detriment.
To be continued yet again (have to rush because the power’s about to go out!)…
I’ve been pondering that elusive “something” that happens when people make music together. The key point here being “make music together,” as distinct from “play (or sing) music at the same time.”
This has been on my mind lately because many of our Ananda singers and musicians fall into the second category and I’m not sure how to help them find their way into the first one.
Why does it even matter? Well, imagine you want to make a cake. You find a recipe and gather your ingredients — flour, sugar, eggs, etc — and put them all in a mixing bowl. As you stir the ingredients, they lose their original form, gradually blending together into something new. All the ingredients are still there but they’ve been transformed into something different, something more.
But how would the cake turn out if, before being put into the mixing bowl, each individual ingredient was placed inside it’s own plastic baggie? You could stir and stir and stir, but your ingredients would never blend together and transform into a delicious cake!
To be continued…
Don’t get me wrong, I love my life… really I do!
At the same time, I have to admit that I would love to be in Switzerland right now. Especially if I could be walking beside my father-in-law, Silvio, and enjoying these incredible mountain views.
I just discovered John Roedel’s God and John Facebook page (thanks to my friend, Erin!) and I’m loving the wisdom and insights.
Many of his posts are pretty long — thought provoking and profoundly moving, but too long to give you a taste in a blog post. But here’s a fairly short one that will give you an idea…
Me: Hey God.
God: Hey John.
Me: My past is holding me down.
God: That’s impossible.
Me: Why? I feel tied to it.
God: Your past doesn’t have any fingers. It can’t tie anything. You’re the one who has knotted it to your wrist.
Me: I’ve made too many mistakes to ever be free of it.
God: Forgiveness begins with the simple act untying yourself from who you used to be. So you can be free to fly away and become something beautiful.
Me: Here I go…
Guilt: Bye John.
Me: I’m floating!
God: Enjoy the view!
~Author: John Roedel
Check it out!
My friend, Bharat, just had a birthday. And thinking about him on his birthday brought to mind a precious memory.
It was San Francisco; late 80’s or early 90’s. I was pursuing my career as a classical flutist, including regular coaching sessions with Robin McKee, associate principal flutist of the San Francisco Symphony.
During one of her visits back East to see her husband (who was principal flutist of the Baltimore Symphony at the time), Robin invited me to house sit at her home in Mill Valley. It was a beautiful spot — quiet, woods all around, and with an amazing stereo system!
This was a period of intense inner processing and growth for me, so the break from my regular routine felt like a real blessing. I particularly remember spending hours sitting in the living room, which as I recall had huge picture windows with bird feeders; some comfortable seating; a coffee table of some sort; the amazing stereo system; and a few bookshelves.
It was simplicity. It was soothing. I sat there for hours: listening to music, gazing out the window at the trees and the birds. And reading a book I had found there, titled Listening to Nature.
Unity was my spiritual home in those days and I had recently been introduced to the concept of tithing to the source of inspiration; from whatever organization or person from which I felt spiritually fed. Well, I was so deeply touched by Listening to Nature that I just had to send a tithe check to the author, whose name was Joseph Cornell. Of course, I had no idea who he was or where he lived, so I mailed the check to Dawn Publications with an explanatory note.
Years later — after I finally found Ananda — I made the connection and realized that Joseph Cornell (aka Bharat) had provided me with my very first experience of Master’s vibration, through the work founded by Yogananda’s direct disciple, Swami Kriyananda.
Thank you, Bharat, for that precious gift. Happy birthday!
I find this quote particularly meaningful as I think about the state of the world right now. It also reminds me of what Swami Kriyananda taught us about not focusing on changing those who are negative, but giving energy to the positive ones.
Easier said than done, of course!
I was struck by a recent Seth Godin blog post, in which he addresses something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. It’s titled A new normal and the take away message I got from it is that every moment brings its own “new normal.”
True, some are more dramatic and far-reaching than others, but we experience them repeatedly throughout our lives. At the top of my personal list of “events that turned my life upside down” are the breakup of a serious relationship in my early twenties; the death of my mother; and the stillbirth of my baby.
I think what’s adding to the current challenge is that it’s not just my life that is turned upside down — it’s everything. When it was my own unique personal tragedy, I could find comfort in the continuity and steadiness of life all around me. But nowadays it can feel like there is no continuity; that there’s nothing steady.
So of course we wish things would get back to normal! Or as Seth puts it: “We’ve got a deep-seated desire for things to go back to normal, the way we were used to.”
But I find myself thinking about how people must have coped during wartime — as in bombs falling and cities being invaded and “life as one knows it” being completely and utterly destroyed. That gives me some perspective.
In these truly unprecedented times, I’m trying to deeply accept the fact that all bets are off. The lessons we’re currently faced with used to feel optional but now they’re absolutely compulsory: Be here NOW. Appreciate the present moment. LOVE, period.
As Seth says at the end of his blog post:
“There’s simply the normal of now.
A new normal. This too shall pass.”