In an interview, David Grohl reminisced about being a kid on family trips traveling through Pennsylvania. Every tunnel along the way would interrupt the radio signal, but he, an aspiring drummer, would try to keep the beat until able to rejoin the radio back in the light.
Really, what else is there to say?
There will always be dark times.
Close your eyes anyway.
Keep the beat.
Remember the light.
Celebrate the seamless reunion
with what was never left,
only sometimes forgotten.
In the desert clarity of early morning light, I can be grateful for the comforts of home, yet sad for how seldom I brave the hot or cold night outdoors anymore.
Some answers must shiver their way into awareness.
The shaking works with starlight to unstuck what's really frozen.
A body need remember its cosmic origin from time to time.
I am not a drummer, nor am I musician. Yes, with Susan's coaching, I can sing the bass line in a chorus, but for over 25 years, I participated in a group that would gather with drums, and a variety of implements turned instrument, to move energy, remove blockage, and pound, chant, dance their way back into the eternal present.
When most of us were in the thick of life, work, and family, we often met monthly. It's what kept us zany and sane, and in place . . . rather than searching elsewhere for what the demands of commitment depleted. There was a restorative power, found only in the company of other men, that recharged our batteries.
Drum circles of one kind or another were always popping up, but this group had a core connection that might have helped hold it together. Several of us were partners in buying land near Patagonia, AZ. We were going to build our retirement homes there. There were 11 families involved. It was the grown-up version of community living. We'd have our own homes but share in the stewardship of the whole. We had a lot of meetings.
There were some access issues to the land we wanted to develop, so we bought the adjacent ranch to solve the problem. Of course that created the need to remodel and care for the aging structures already there. I took a lot of it on, getting involved in something that seemed never ending and prone to crisis calls.
Two architects, both members of that same LLC, purchased some additional land to develop and sell. It included the high point in the area. They graded a road, invested in some utility and site planning, but the main use of that choice piece of land was to host Drum Night. I don't believe that was their intention, but it was the gift for us all. For me, it had the added significance of being under Red Mountain where the look-out tower I once manned still stood.
We'd head down on a Friday night, bring food and drink to share, get a fire started, set up a place to sleep, move chairs, drums, and instruments around the fire, catch up a bit as others would arrive.
Someone would start tapping a beat; another would join in. There were those with talent holding the center. Different instruments would accent and complement. We'd get in touch with something, share it through sound. Some would sing or chant, articulating what the beat was touching. There are recordings! Sometimes, we'd finish a session and laugh, amazed at what just happened.
Recently, at a property closer to Tucson, a handful of us (youngest, 66; oldest, 75) sat around the fire, talked more than drummed, didn't stay through the night, but still affirmed something important, enlivened the placeholder of possibility.
I found myself watching the moon a lot that evening. I couldn't escape the feeling that we were being watched. But from the moon?!
Why a Moon?
Disguised as a punch hole paper dot in the evening sky,
we might overlook your actual size and proximity.
(I've driven vehicles farther than the distance between us!)
You loom,
whether we pay attention or not.
Imagine the fuss though if you wobbled,
if your orbit declined!
Gladly, you remain up high,
oblivious to our planetary misdemeanors.
Although, even oceans forget their mass,
follow your silent progression around our globe
as if remembering their cosmic youth
hurtling as comets around the galaxy —
before colliding in marriage with fiery rock.
The cool moon won't hold water,
only attracts.
Ageless, patient, persistent,
it lights what it wants,
hides its own darkness —
a thumbprint above us
waiting to be pushed
to fulfill its final purpose.
YOU ARE READING
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