Words are not my medium. Music is. I attempt a verbal recap amidst the whirlwind of change, a relentless genocide, and the untethered overreach of AI. I contemplate. I go inward. I grieve. I shout. I protest. I look for the next right action. I write another song a measure at a time. I hold to the hope that music is ultimately more powerful than the weapons of tech-bro ambition. I wilt with worry. I re-wild myself.
Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.”
In April I attended the premiere of my Dies Irae that begins with the words “the scream to which no one responded.” I redacted the traditional doctrine of the text and made up some new Latin. “Forgive me. Help me to make peace with my neighbor.” The singers’ reactions as they watch the performance video for the first time was the sweetest award any composer could have.
Keep singing. Do not judge the sound of your voice. Move air to sustain a pitch and simply drop your jaw. Your vibration will reach the edge of the universe. Leave a wave through time.
In Iowa City I sang Penelope, embodying Odysseus’s return home from war and was also privileged to hear teenagers at the local high school sing my song about unconditional love. Returning to Detroit I mopped a new studio on my knees just like my mother taught me to do. I learned how to mud walls, plug holes, and paint at great heights reaching dangerously from extendable ladders. I began a film project of my grandfather’s sermon notes for my Western Oregon percussion concert, and then quickly came to the realization that I needed to give up the studio. The last month and safety deposit money was returned. Leave it better than you found it and I did.
The vibrant life exists. I now live with an 8th grade graduate. Mom requests Christmas music in May. Dad determines that my accordion is toast. My beautiful child hit the first run of the ballgame. He sang me a melody while beatboxing his heart song. He showed me his new card trick and I was amazed by his magic.
My child is not fooled when I try to perform normal. Still I try perform calm for him even though he can read the lines in my forehead like a good magician. He knows I’m worried. The music industry has paled. I collapsed into a fatigue heap when my plan to downsize failed. I am still trying to find the next step toward Sustainable in this new landscape. How will we adapt? I am determined to change as needed. ADAPT.
Rebel Girrrrrl. Remember who you are and in whose lineage you stand. I think of Bob Marley who quoted Haile Selassie’s address to the United Nations. Sinéad O’Connor quoted Marley and was boo’d for it. I rest and regroup. I commit to returning to the fight.
Keep calling & writing the reps. Every voice matters. Hum for your vagal nervous system as Resmaa Menakem taught us. This system must topple eventually, but we are not there yet.
When am I leaving Spotify? The pale seeks to suck life for itself. How will you resist? Feed the hungry if you have any religion at all. My moral injuries are growing. How will you/I/we use your/my/our finite energy? I read Care Work. There are many ways to fight. Sometimes one fights from bed. “There is no time for despair,” the professor said. Every effort in LoveThyNeighbor is counted by the stars who watch us.
I check on my Iranian friend, the bravest songbird. “My darlings; We’re good. The explosion was pretty close to our house. There were some scary noises and the whole house shook. We were scared, but we are okay… When war comes close to you… It gets real in a different way. Only at that moment do you realize how small and vulnerable you are when you realize that you are not an exception and you can become the famous cruelty of the world and easily lose everything in an instant.”
Music has made the enemy my friend. No government can interfere with our connection as songbirds. I know my flock when I hear the music. She tells me of the threats and still decides to sing in order to keep her soul alive, even though it is very risky to do so. She says we must cultivate our light.
Even the slightest shift will change the vectors shape.
Take a nap. I ask what’s the next right thing? I feel my sparrow size. Isolated we suffer. I remember again that I need to gather with my flock. I call another friend for a check-in. She says she wishes for me to stop limiting myself. I am so practical. She asks me about my long term goals and big dreams. I remember old visions and dream some new ones for good measure.
Share this post