By Grabthar's Hammer...

...by the sons of Worvan...we shall be avenged.

You have 7 days.

Look at your calendar.

Look at next Tuesday.

Find a slot somewhere in there - anywhere.

Write down this word:

VOTE.

Trobasattvas

For someone who gives a lot of lip service to the fact that music can be a strong part of a person’s spiritual path, I certainly suffer from a lot of doubt and despair on the same subject. Sometimes I wonder: even if I myself love the music I choose to play, and even though I am moved by it, does it do anyone a lick of good to hear seven verses of a troubadour song in a foreign language? Am I a hypocrite to sing sacred music from a religious tradition I don’t buy, even if I’m moved by the music and the lyrics? Does playing 2 hours of diddly-jigs for a mostly-drunken audience warrant the stern Zen admonition “do not waste your life?”

Once, when one of these grey doubt-funks descended on me, I asked one of my Buddhist teachers if being a musician was right livelihood. The short version of his answer is this: if it’s done with the intention of relieving the suffering of sentient beings, then it’s right livelihood. “Music brings happiness to other beings,” he said, “So it’s good.” Alright, I thought. If the drunks are experiencing a couple of hours of relief from their suffering, then I guess I’m not wasting anything (though it’s unclear whether Turlough O’ Carolan or John Barleycorn will get the merit for that one.)

I got two more answers this week. The first one came when my Mom told me that one of our medieval CDs, “Saint Francis and the Minstrels of God,” had been a great comfort to the dying mother of one of her friends. The story moved me very much – although I lay the merit at the feet of St Francis, who had been either the author of, or the inspiration for, all the music and lyrics on the recording, and we just sort of channeled it.

Then, in the latest issue of Shambala Sun I saw my question asked again, only about poetry, not music; and it was asked by the late Allen Ginsberg. This was transcribed from a talk once given by Ginsberg.

If civilization’s not going to be around that long, certainly not my books or records, what’s the use of poetry? What function has poetry got if the world is going to hell in a handbasket? Gehlek Rinpoche’s answer was really great and clear; the relief of suffering, the relief of mass human suffering…

That instruction or direction is a good compass for any vocation, but it’s particularly applicable to the rudderless poet who is shifting from preservation of his own ego or projection of immortality or the romance of being a poet, to an activity that functions well for other people...

Ginsberg then articulates the connection between meditation and its application to poetics, and continues:

… if you can show your mind, it reminds people that they have got a mind. If you can catch yourself thinking, it reminds people they can catch themselves thinking. If you have a vivid moment that’s more open and compassionate, it reminds people that they have those vivid moments.

By showing your mind as a mirror, you can make a mirror for other people to recognize their own minds and see familiarity and not feel that their minds are unworthy of affection or appreciation. Basically, poetics is appreciation of consciousness, appreciation of our own consciousness.”

OK – I get it. Appreciation of our own consciousness, and I would add, the expansion of our own consciousness to include something bigger than Itself. Doesn’t matter whether it’s Italian laude spirituali,Qawwali music, Monteverdi’s 1610 Vespers, or truly great, heart-stopping rock and roll. I know what music has done for me; and perhaps that’s the answer to my question. I’m no different than anyone else, and if music has jolted me into transcendent states of consciousness, or reminded me that I’m more than my tiny little mind, or relieved my suffering for 5 minutes, well…amen, brother, blessed be, namaste.