Month: January 2020

All The Light We Cannot See

Darkness is a space for possibility. We fill it with what we bring with us, what we choose to recognize and promote, what we choose to remove or part ways with. Sometimes, it feels like the choice is paramount. Sometimes, it feels like there is no choice. In either case, we yearn for freedom in the darkness, hoping that that freedom illuminates all we cannot see.

Now is the time to apologize for having not read the book. I will, someday, so, moving on.

This famous title has a familiarity to it that resonates whether one has read the book or not. “All the light we cannot see”.  Reminds me of, “Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes”. Or, “Do unto others as you would have done unto you”. Or even, “If you can’t say somethin’ nice, don’t say nothin’ at all”. There’s just something classic in the way it rolls off the tongue and resonates within the head and the heart.

Many of these phrases act as guiding lights in our darkness, helping us become more self-aware of our desire to be free, our deep yearning for freedom. The creative yearn for self-expression. The chaotic yearn for tranquility. The war-torn yearn for peace. The misunderstood yearn for understanding. The displaced yearn for home.

There used to be a television show on FX called Legion. It was brilliant and heartbreaking, but also incredibly fulfilling, propelling the imagination forward in a mostly positive way. There was a poem written within the context of the show that I have not stopped thinking about since I heard it.

once upon a time

there was a girl with no dreams

she lived in the right now

then she met a boy

and his dream became hers

except what he didn’t realize

was she already had a dream

that dream was to

be care free

To be truly free, without pain, without anxiety, without care.

This post is dedicated to a certain section of nerdom and the related family and friends, mourning the loss of one of their own. By all accounts, a guiding light so that those around might find their way in the darkness.

Take the shackles off my friends. Reach out, take chances, and make connections.

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The Central Line, part 2…

The Central Line is a lot like the “force” in Star Wars. It’s an energy, a vibrant presence that you can find in any room where two or more are gathered. Although it may sound a bit dogmatic, this idea is less concerned with religion and more concerned with collaboration, especially within the confines of creativity.

Now, the Harvard Lectures by Bernstein are absolutely what drew me to this idea, but similar to my misquoting of Yoda in the Empire Strikes Back, I took something Bernstein said and ran wit it in a different direction. You see, when Bernstein refers to the “central line” in these lectures, he was simply talking about the central figures in music, the most important line in the music, like a motif or a melody. The conductor, the musicians in the orchestra, they serve the central line at any given time in a piece of music. The neurons in my brain formed and accepted this connection, but the scope of the idea was enlarged, as well, almost simultaneously. What if the central line is present in any situation where collaboration is concerned?  

Like a photograph of the sky meeting the sea, the Central Line lies in the middle of a dichotomy. It is also a slightly more metaphysical version of “the best idea in the room wins”. It begins with the natural order of things: the light in the room, the temperature of the air, registering every inch of yourself, sending every inch of yourself its own bodily electricity, the gravity keeping your feet on the ground, the Earth is the third planet from the sun, our solar system is part of the Milky Way galaxy, and so on and so forth. It really is electric.

Next is a journey inward. Every experience you’ve ever had, every skill you’ve ever learned, perfected, every incredible thought you’ve ever had, made available to you right here, now.

And then?

Gently dismiss it all. Simply be present, hopefully with a grin of opportunity. Let the ideas rip. By acknowledging all that you are and everything around you, you create a space for your ego to operate without the impulse for attention. The impulse is to serve. Not the Central Line, mind you. The Central Line only requires acknowledgment. Serve the others in the room (ideas included). Serve this good earth. Serve the cosmos. All the while serving yourself because your ideas (whether utilized or not) are emanating from you.

Dichotomies and paradoxes await.

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The Central Line, part 1…

I pride myself on the ability to connect dots among seemingly unrelated topics when in conversation with other people. Whether memories or music, poetry or prose, commentary or conjecture, I like being able to conjure up a conversational tangent that ends up illuminating the whole of what was initially being discussed. Quoting film and television is no exception.

Every now and then, I find that I have been quoting something incorrectly for years. Always amusing and humbling in nature, this tends to happen when I am merging philosophical ideas. For instance, the quote from Yoda, in The Empire Strikes Back, is, “Always in motion is the future.” For years, decades actually, I heard, “Always EMOTION is the future”.

I kid you not, I did not catch this error until a few years ago, and yet, there is a surprising amount of truth in my misquoted version. Emotion does dictate what one’s next steps will be, inevitably leading to the future. Our emotions are in various states of flux, in motion, if you will.

Another example of my misquoting helped shape the title of my blog, and it highlights a musical, even spiritual devotion to the journey that I am on. The Central Line. It begins with a set of cd’s with two names in large print. MAHLER/BERNSTEIN.

My introduction to Leonard Bernstein, during my undergraduate years of study, is a life marker for me. I was 19. I saw a set of cd’s with two names in large print. MAHLER/BERNSTEIN. This set of cd’s was a baptism into two artists whose influences in my life cannot be understated. Thankfully, this is not an isolated phenomenon for either artist, but Bernstein’s influence reaches us all at one point or another. Sad to think that in his final days, he was seen shouting at the sky, cursing God for seemingly not being given enough time to feel fulfilled. I’d like to think that in the end, he made peace with it all. His analysis of Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde made me feel like he had mastered the art of feeling at peace with the end. He magically and masterfully illuminated the finale’s story about a character that seemingly merges into the nothingness of space, into eternity. “Evig, evig…”

Leonard Bernstein took the time to give as much insight as he could to anyone who would listen. The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra (tv series) was such a gift from him to the public. There was also a six part lecture series he gave at Harvard, titled: The Unanswered Question after a piece by Charles Ives. The piece by Charles Ives is worth exploring in and of itself, but the lecture series? It is the Holy Grail of musical and poetic understanding, and if you connect with it, it will shape you in a way that applies to everything you will ever do. The key to it all? The Central Line.

The Central Line (part 2 coming shortly). Sorry for the post being split up.

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There’s a Starman…

He’d like to come and meet us, but he thinks he’d blow our minds!

Happy Birthday, David Bowie (also, Elvis Presley, to be fair).

This was not going to be my second post, but after the car ride with my daughter to her pre-k program, and this being David Bowie’s birthday, this feels right.

My daughter loves the music of David Bowie. I mean, she asked Santa for a David Bowie Barbie doll last Christmas. No such thing exists. My wife stayed up almost all night doctoring a Ken doll into Aladdin Sane. I know I played a part in her love for his music. I might even be able trace it back to the day he passed away, when I played his music videos on repeat the entire day.

I remember that morning so vividly. Megan came up to me, early in the morning as I was getting ready for work. “Baby, something has happened,” she said. I thought a family member had died. When she mentioned David Bowie’s passing, I was relieved. Honestly, it was not a family member or a close friend. But then, the actual news sank in. No more David Bowie. No more interviews. No more concerts. I had never seen him in concert. No more music from such a beautiful soul. Before that day, I even imagined I would be able to meet him at some point in my life, at least for a moment, to say thank you. I took the day off work. We played his music videos all day. Lily was five months old.

Could a five month old child really have disseminated Megan and I’s adoration of his music? Possibly, but I also think it took root in her, kind of like it took root in me (more on that another time). Beyond that day, I never overtly pushed his music. I did buy her a couple of Bowie t-shirts. She’s still rocking them. To be fair to my daughter, she intuitively picks up on the greats. The first time she heard Freddie Mercury or Elton John, her face filled with wonder and excitement. “Who’s singing this song, dad? Play another one.”

On the day Bowie died, I found out that had had released an album, two days before, three years ago today, on his birthday. Blackstar was released on this day in 2016. It was a wonderful, sad, and amazing send off to, quite possibly, the greatest musical artist spanning the years 1969 to 2016. It also turned my lamenting for Bowie and his music into a prayer of sorts, answered by the knowledge of this new album. Dedication to the art form only Bowie could pull off, literally up until the day he died.

This morning, my daughter and I went through her favorite songs on the way to pre-k. When I asked her what song she wanted to dedicate to Bowie on his birthday, she picked “Heroes”. I cried. I know it’s not a mental awareness for her. Thank God. It’s an awareness of the heart. Coming off of the escalated tensions between Iran and the U.S., things she knows nothing about, “Heroes” was the perfect choice. Next was “Rebel Rebel”, then “Diamond Dogs”, then “Modern Love” (which she has always aptly called “Church on Time”), then “China Girl”, and then “Changes”. “Changes” is the first David Bowie song my daughter ever asked for. She was two years old when she started requesting it. I’ve watched her grow singing that song. Surreal.

Happy Birthday, David Bowie, and to everyone reading this, remember, “There’s a Starman waiting in the sky. He’s told us not to blow it cause he knows it’s all worthwhile.”

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These Are Your First Steps…

“Where did you train, on a farm!?” – Zod teasing Superman/Clark Kent (Kal-El), as they destroy a significant portion of Metropolis in the motion picture, Man of Steel.

This line of dialogue always makes me chuckle. I often imagine a cut scene where Superman dryly says, “Well, yes, for a good part of it”. I mean, he did grow up on a farm. Can you imagine screaming in a fit of jealousy at Mozart? “When did you start taking piano lessons, as a child!?” The truth is that, sometimes, I am overcome with the sensation that Zod is talking to me. I think this is where my imagined scene of dialogue from Superman comes from.

I grew up on a farm. I started taking piano lessons when I was a child. My Grandma (dad’s side) played piano at my home church for over fifty years. My Nemaw (mom’s side) played guitar and sang at the Grand Ole Opry as a teenager. Dad sings, mom plays a little piano, an aunt plays the organ, an uncle plays guitar, and everybody sings. This was the setup before the teenage years hit. More on that later.

I’m starting this blog, The Central Line, as a devotion to the elusive dream, the deeper truth, and the peace we all seek, where all is balanced.

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