Chase Reeves on Real Spirituality (lmao)
Maybe that’s what real spirituality is like; you can’t tell who’s inside who anymore.”
Maybe that’s what real spirituality is like; you can’t tell who’s inside who anymore.”
This is the entirety of Joni Mitchell’s live show when she toured with Pat Metheny, Jaco Pastorius, Michael Brecker, three phenomenally proficient musicians. (for a killer funky tune check out around 15:20).
Joni Mitchell’s talent is one any turd on the street could appreciate. Silky, smooth, gentle, lithe voice. Flitting, dodging and weaving lyrics driving some insightful point home. (21:20 for some examples).
Add to that Metheny’s guitar (there’s a killer solo around 3:50… a few of those quicky lines are so tasty it hurts) and Jaco’s bass (solo at 25:25 and amazing high-waisted headband grimaces throughout).
This is a stage so g’damn full of talent.
It’s easy to get people to know your name. It’s hard to be proficient.
Maybe what I mean more is: in a world of pageviews and post schedules and retweets where you’re literally rewarded for setting the bar as low as possible and speaking at the lowest common denominator to the widest possible audience, remember this stage, set your standard one notch higher, settle one bit deeper into the learner’s posture and the long term view and the awareness of true craft earnestly honed.
Or, as Wale puts it:
So fuck fame, fuck money
Fuck everything anyone can take from me
It ain’t hard to make money
We young n*ggas, we just tryna be legendary”
The rule says that in order for an individual to master any complex skill, be it brain surgery or playing the cello, she must put in 10,000 hours of focused practice. […] But what exactly are we learning when we’re beating our brains out all those years? […] What these masters were learning was to speak in their own voice. They were learning to act as themselves. In my opinion, this is the hardest thing in the world.”
Of all the things I’ve ever done in my life, [performing spoken word] was the one thing that felt the most natural… The music was more fun, like a thrill ride, but that felt like, ‘there I am.’”
Daniel Lanois on creativity, inspiration, making Joshua Tree, etc…. One of the best interviews i’ve heard. Interviewer, interviewee… they found the right moment in their careers to talk to each other. As a musician and designer and buisinesser-y guy, there’s so much to draw from here. Let me know if you make it to the water part.
Hours go by without thinking about what happened. “Oh fuck that’s right… my son died. We were in the hospital for, like, forever. My wife gave birth to his body. Fuck. Holy shit. Don’t forget that.”
Feels like a dream.
Really? You have to try to remember this?
I feel guilty for not being in it loudly and at all times. For not feeling more more often and more deeply.
At first it came in waves. Peaks and troughs. Bolts of lightning. A split second of just the fuckin’ biggest goddam sadness… I remember moving to sit next to Mellisa in the hospital, just her and I in the room for the first time. I sat down and started sobbing so damn hard. Huge shoulder shakes. I put my head in my hands. My body was doing this thing and my mind was floating somewhere above… “Holy shit dude. You’re, like, full on sobbing right now.”
We’re just about two weeks out now. There’s not much lightning. Just some clouds. A mid-tier humidity. I wish it was torrential. I wish I felt so much.
The grief lives in my body I think. My mind bounces around trying to do stuff. Still thinks it can be productive. But it’s tethered to a soggy, slothy body. It’s like those dreams where you try to punch someone underwater. Slow. Dense. Impossible to generate enough force.
My mind wants to power on. It wants to be productive. It thinks it can. But it looks at its own metrics and starts to learn… What have we accomplished? How did we feel accomplishing it?… Hmmm. Not much. Not strong. Something’s up.
I meditated to try to get my mind to settle a bit. It worked some. I listened to a new guided meditation from Tom Selleck. It was ok. Not my best work. It felt hard to settle, hard to slow and be in my body, hard to be here on my knees in this room. Felt like I couldn’t get a full breath in.
But i’m glad I put in the work. There was a moment there where I lost myself a bit… it’s trippy, you’re basically stoned, in a trance, feeling your whole body breathe. That slowed my mind a bit.
Henri Nouwen called it “the mind descending into the heart.” I gotta get some of that. The distance between what my mind thinks it can do and what my biology is capable of right now is making me a little crazy. I get so disappointed and moody. I wanted to accomplish this, that, the other. I didn’t. I stared at the way the flowers on my whiteboard are dying.
Pull back. It’s ok. The tasks don’t matter. Right now is the time to slow and be in this. You know you want to use the term, “be present,” but lets not. Makes it all trite. And this isn’t trite.
Soon enough we’ll be back at the pixels and words and progress. For now let’s breathe and watch the trees. Try not to medicate too much. Not with movies or booze. Not too much. Just a little.
Read and write and breathe.
It’s funny, the meditation, I never learned about this, but since experiencing it have seen it elsewhere… They call it something like “self love.” I experience it and its no small thing.
The pervasive voice in my head is harsh… You’re a pice of shit. Pussy. You’re fat. You’re just like everyone else. You’re soft. You’re weak… The meditation brings so much rest my belly jiggles out with the breaths. I notice how much I’ve been holding it in. Let it out. You’re soft.
I talk to parts of myself… That’s it, little guy. Was that so bad? No need to hold it in here. Relax. You are ok… It breeds a kind of self love. Or maybe it just shushes the self loathing enough for me to notice it. But it’s more than that. It’s compassion for myself… You ARE just like everyone else. You don’t know what the hell’s going on. Know that I love you.
I used to feel like this with the big Jesus moments. The guitar vamping over the droning synth. The space and rest. I’m not alone. I’m ok. This big thing out there is communicating that I’m ok. It feels the same here, kneeling on a thing I made trying to get a full breath in. It may or may not be a thing communicating this to me. I think even said phantom communicator would say, “whether or not it’s a communication isn’t the point. ‘You’re ok’ is the point.”
[note: I’ve written about meditation before here, here and here]
Storydoing companies consciously convey their story through direct action…use their core story as an organizing principle for activities throughout the company.”
Attributes of a StoryDoing Company:
Audio Dhamma Talks » — “Thanissaro Bhikkhu of Metta Forest Monastery is the speaker, author, or translator in all cases unless otherwise noted.”
Got to this guy from a recommendation by Dan Benjamin. There are guided meditations, introductory things and some more general “talks.” I’m sure “talk” means something in Buddhism.
“We don’t catch up, we talk.”
“My friend was going through a horrible time, so I went to her and I talked with her.”
“Let’s talk.”
They’re great, though. This guy is like the Tom Selleck of mindfulness meditation. I imagine putting my head on his chest, twisting his chest hair in my fingers as he “talks”… contemplating the deep roundness of his voice, the timbre of suffering, the tenor of meaning.
In all seriousness these are good. Meditation has changed my life forever. Wrote about it here I’m not the most regular sitter yet, but “the knife” is “being sharpened” as we “talk.”
Wondering what I’ll say to internet about this. I want to say something. It’s in my nature. These people so far away are friends of mine and there is care and love and life-long friendships in these toots and bytes”
Our second son, Rowan, passed away during labor last week. We are heartbroken. The above is a quote from something I wrote about the labor. Say what you like about the companies and the gurus and the sponsored posts and the future of social media, but I’m grateful for the cables and code that brought my far friends close.