Excellent report from my life-identity theft hijacker! So many fantastic details. I can't match the sensory richness in my own post, so I will take it in another direction but still under the heading of "keep'n it real".
I had a long day playing music outside on the boardwalk in Old Town yesterday. Today is more gorgeous so I am my way out again this morning. It was 6 hours of interacting with people from all over the world who flock to this charming spot on the Potomac. I could describe the kid's enthusiasm or even just focus on the smirky chicks strolling by with their Sita-like sidelong glances... But all the experiences of the day got trumped at the last minute. Having played so long, and sung without a mike, my whole body was done done done as I packed up. My fingers start to lock up (I have a long ice down ritual after performing so long to preserve my hands for the next day), my voice is slightly raspy, my lips are raw from harmonica runs, and my diaphragm and intercostal muscles are spent from pushing my voice and harp above the ambient noise. This causes a deep but satisfying fatigue inside. My body is done, spent at the core. Only the mental and emotional high of the day's performances carry me home. These details are necessary to understand why I felt some trepidation when I was approached, after putting away my guitar and starting to break down my drum set, by a slightly intoxicated young man with a high and tight haircut. I had already stopped responding to the people walking by asking "where's the music?" as if I hadn't been cranking it out for 6 hours already and was just slacking on my "job". He started with "sir", (when did I become a "sir"? I forget when it started but by now it is all I hear from men his age!) It also gave me the military heads-up because they are usually unfailingly polite to their "elders". (I'm not dropping the quotes till my head is all gray dammit) It all ran together just like this: "Sir, I know you are going home but I just spent the evening with my girlfriend who I love more than anything in the world and we are going off to Iraq in two months and is there any way you can play us a love song I only have $20 left because we just ate at a fancy restaurant and it would mean so much for us to be able to dance to a love song I come from Tennessee and her name is Michelle and I love her more than anything in this world could you maybe please play us one song sir so we can dance together tonight... Picks were back on, harp was on the rack, steel guitar was ringing from my slide as I launched into a tune from Blind Willie Mctell. Two young couples (all four were being deployed.), danced in front of me and blatantly made out, clutching each other as if they were going off to war and might never see each other again. (oh yeah, they were all actually going off to war and might never see each other again) I was singing lyrics like " All these big stars are falling, my baby gone for 10 long days, I reach for the pillow, where my baby used to lay" "I know my bulldog, baby when I hear him bark, I know my woman when I feel her in the dark, oh I know you baby" At some point in the song they were lost to any lyrics, whispering in each others ears between soul kisses oblivious to the small crowd forming, watching. My slide and harp took over where words failed and the moon was big over the Potomac. (Ok, I'm not a poet but I'm telling you the moon was big over the Potomac) As they danced the men would often pick their lovers up off the ground, they were sturdy dudes and swing them around, never losing balance or giving even a moment's doubt that they would stumble even with the drinking. I kept wondering if they would come back home safely as I played. I re-ran all those shows I have seen on what happens to a man or woman whose vehicle hits an IED with the inadequate amour we give them. I couldn't help the catastrophic images from flashing in my mind as I played and watched their innocence in motion. After the song ended they all shook my hand and thanked me looking me in the eyes (more "sirs"). As I thanked them for their service to our country and said that we owe all our freedom to men and women like them, the words turned to ashes in my mouth. Because I sincerely believe that our country has betrayed these young people. Their lives should not be so causally spent to try to try to keep one sect of Islam from blowing up another sect of Islam because the Shia believe that the Prophet Muhammad's family should have taken over after his death, and the Sunnis believe that the successor should be elected. (which is how it went down) So they went off into the night and I was left with these thoughts and feelings. I will never play that song again without thinking of these young people and wondering if any of the four will be reaching for the pillow where there baby used to lay after they return. --- In [email protected], TurquoiseB <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > A day in Heaven tends to start with a chocolate a la > taza (essentially a dark chocolate pudding so thick > that the spoon stands up in it) and churros from > Churrateria Charlie's. Mmmmm...filling and full of > all those essential vitamins and nutrients that one > can only get from organic food sources like chocolate > and donuts. :-) > > I am told by locals that this breakfast is essentially > a type of rehabilitation for the body and the soul, > occasioned by too much late-night partying the night > before. Because the bars and nightclubs stay open so > late, many are stopping in here for their rehab breakfast > before even going home. Very different from French culture, > and that's a good thing; change is good. > > So what can I tell you about the north of Spain, having > been here only a few days? Well, not much. Blondes are > rare, and most of the lighter hair colors you see obviously > came out of a bottle. But that's Ok with me, because I was > never a big fan of blondes other than the natural Scandi- > navian sort anyway. The younger women here tend to be more > attractive than the older ones; a big contrast to France. > Another contrast is that Spanish culture is lived more on > the streets and in cafes than is French culture (if you can > believe that), and that suits me just fine, because a large > part of my life is spent in cafes. Also, you tend to hear > more languages spoken around you here than in France -- > the most frequent being Catalan, the next Spanish, then > French, then English, and then a smattering of Dutch, > Swedish, German, Basque, Japanese, and whatever. > > I guess the most interesting thing, from a spiritual point > of view (FFL *is* a spiritual group and this is a post > about Heaven, after all) is the change that has taken > place in Spain since I was last here. That was when I > was 15, when Spain was in the heights (or depths, as it > turns out) of the Franco era. My memories of Spain from > that time center around the color black. The streets > were full of women and men dressed completely in black, > and with faces that made you wonder whether a smile had > ever been allowed to dance across those faces. Back in > 1960, there were an equal number of Guardia Civil storm > troopers on the streets, equally dressed in black from > head to toe, their faces exhibiting the same lifelong > smilelessness, their well-pressed outfits accessorized > by the seemingly obligatory machine gun. Not a happy > place. Based on that early experience, I've never been > exactly tempted to return. > > Until recently, that is, when friends I trust spent some > time down here and came back raving about the place and its > people. So I had to check it out, and am pleased to report > that all of that Franco-era stuff has been relegated to the > same dark corner of history that they swept the Inquisition > into when *its* time was past. > > The people are -- on the whole -- happy, outgoing, and > exceedingly friendly, FAR more friendly to strangers than > their French counterparts 200 kilometers to the north. > Just judging from posters on the walls, there is a strong > interest here in yoga, meditation, and Things New Age, > again a striking contrast to France. > > The air quality in Barcelona limited my stay there to a > couple of cough-filled days. The architecture is wonderful, > as is the liveliness of the culture, but man!...I've seen > and breathed cleaner air in Los Angeles. So I've gravitated > to Sitges, a beach town about half an hour south by commuter > train or car. All the difference in the world. The constant > ocean breeze keeps the air clean, and I'm told that this > particular town had a rep for being full of outlaws and > artistic types even back in the repressive Franco era, > which to me is a really telling indication of the general > "vibe" of the place and the nature of its "power-placeness." > > The most spiritual thing I've seen here so far? Well, that > was this morning. It was raining for a short while and, as > I was walking along the beach, I came across an old man who > was obviously Down On His Luck, sleeping in the middle of > the sidewalk, getting wet. As I walked past, two modern > Guardia Civil troopers, dressed in *non*-black baggy uniforms > (baggy uniforms are important -- one of Uncle Tantra's laws > of the universe is that you simply cannot be a Fascist in a > baggy uniform; you need sharp creases and jack boots to be > a good Fascist) walked up to him, woke him, and helped him > to the shelter of a nearby tree, where he wouldn't get so > wet. Then they said "Bon Dia" to him in Catalan, and left. > > Then I logged into Fairfield Life and found a couple of > people still clinging to their idealized notions of what > the caste system is all about and how fair and essentially > highly evolved it is. Big contrast, spiritually. For me, > that subject (the Hindu caste system) is now as closed > as a subject can be...I want nothing more to do with > discussing it, or with the people who feel that they > can somehow come up with a justification for it. May > they have as happy and fulfilling a life as their > state of attention allows them to have. > > Me, I'm going to spend my Sunday sitting in cafes and > writing and enjoying the sun now peeking out of the clouds > and the dark-haired beauties walking by. For some people, > this may not seem a terribly spiritual pastime or lifestyle. > But for me, it's basically Heaven. You can wait for the > Heaven On Earth that Maharishi promises if you want, or > for some promised better life in the suburbs of Bramaloka > when you die, but that stuff just doesn't float my boat. > When it comes to Heaven, I like mine Here And Now. >
