Jazz & Truth: Seeking the Inflated Tear

When the band (Red Fly Nation) was together, Joel the guitarist/vocals construed direction typically at least from my convoluted perspective, which is this--as I see what mattered to me then. We would many times listen to various musicians' product as the session went on, which as I couldn't perform myself, there was no leaning on any erudition that of the way things could or should sound like. So when things would dwindle down to discussion, at least then I courted sensibilities, "I am now amongst!" This was expectation. As the iconoclastic cultic expression evolved i.e. we'll do better than our predecessors, I would link to the last remorseful confusion--this is what I knew I projected. So maybe now some Jazz was playing on our jam-box, & this is my reprieve. Jazz, with its distinguishing instruments--one can find what each of these artists means in a kind of voice, & I'd imagine the map of digressing emanations: drums up front, bass pondering expanse, sax like birds calling me outside. ** Surmising the plain hearth, I gathered the concept of having sought release w/ the musicians I ran with, now years ago. The mayhem-tree (I dubbed) down on campus seemed to be the transition in place, of place, allowing me to yield to the currency of norm, which I now objectify for its strangeness--its a good thing, I feel--nothing to prove. Now there is nothing outside of me, drug or otherwise, which would leave me gainful of expression--I am movement, life's grand reward, a positivist's momentum. Why I sense my concealment, at all, as it has never changed, is almost beyond realization: I could be scaling the exterior of life's edifice, a house, wanting to get in--or already confined to the "bamot" (immemorial, worshipped space-literally " in the desert"/ hebrew) with expectation on par with the cosmic--either way I am buffered by exaltation. When Kabbalists are acceding to higher chambers of belief and knowledge, it is due to their concealment that they can bury the heart of the "other-side" into mother earth & define their opposition to it. I am the convergence of wanting in and getting out. ~~~**The author, Wieseltier, feels less is revealed w/thanks & praises of "heaven" than the hard reality that things go away. Death is imminent. Death is the harder truth, he thinks. So why, I ask, is death the substance making the soul feel more refined in the continuum of our condition...hopefully a substantial life? The black & white of this dialect implies Matrieya, a Buddhist practice--a transformative action to find the taste of the sun in this open wound life. What if it were possible to hold reality in this hand--the shadows in my mind compelling me self-reverently, whereas relief of our pain--say standing in the lighter reference of now, somehow generates ALMOST nothing as gratuitous to remark upon this world as pained as we find it? I contend "light as a feather as if he has wings" B. Marley's words--probably something biblical but from where I don't know--IS our usual condition. (don't think biblical here--it is not the point, the pt. would be just as I say: we can't yet contain death.) What to do in THESE moments? Things seem brighter. Sounds seem louder. WE seem insignificant--promoted by less of a "deep-aside." In this instant, in that moment, why do we contend a lapse? Did we require to renounce death so adamantly that the new day wouldn't be born w/out it? Less is there to hold on to, had we only the bright light of day? If we were so freed up, why does complacency haunt you so? You think truth is only suffering? Truth is, only when we are entirely unencumbered to ask why. AND Why Now? of anything that contains you. If it is the sky: the sky is the limit. Scrutinize even the obvious moment, not just the shadow lurking in consciousness. Self-possession seems the goal of so many... I say WATCH the day you let go of THAT. Watch what you see, as Rimbaud said.