Easier Than Golf

After taking a brief hiatus from the world of music on my last blog, I thought I'd return with a little observation. Playing the violin, like golf, is a difficult endeavor but not nearly so diabolical and innumerably more rewarding.

For the most part I gave up golf at the onset of my violin making avocation. Not a day too soon I must add. Back when I played a fair amount, I had golfing buddies who were entirely into competing against other players. As many of you may know, golf has a strange handicap system that allows players of all skill levels to compete against each other. You can be a horrible golfer but regularly beat great golfers because of the number of strokes thrown your way. So often these guys would get really fired up when they shot 1000 for 9 holes because after deducting 961 shots because of their handicap they "beat" their competitor who shot a respectable 40. Where was this system when I use to run marathons? Imagine getting a ten mile head start at the Boston Marathon, beating some truly great runners by a whisker and whooping it up at the local pub cause you just "won" a really big race.

When I played golf I didn't enjoy competing much. At least not against other players. It was always me against the course, trying each day to play better than the day before. Guess who won most of the time? Guess who won 99 times out of 100? the #*#* golf course. I really worked hard at the game too but despite my efforts there was very little improvement or satisfaction. Frustration, well if that was the goal then I was better than Tiger Woods! Endless supply of that.

Playing the violin is almost entirely different than golf other than one shared aspect. They both are incredibly difficult to master but that is where the comparisons end. The violin is rewarding and enjoyable almost every single day I play and many days it is rapturous. Often improvements carry over from one day to the next. As long as I'm not exhausted (from other activities) when I begin playing I can almost always count on playing some pieces or exercises well with good tone and a fair amount of expression. Lately each day seems better than the one before with a tone production quite intoxicating. Sometimes I'm playing along (alone I might add) and all of a sudden I've got this huge smile on my face from the beautiful sounds coming from the instrument.

I guess this is a long winded way of saying making music is an amazingly sensuous and incredibly rewarding endeavor. Perhaps the violin is not for everyone but given the diversity of instruments out there I highly recommend some form of music playing for all people. Especially the young and young at heart.

Add one last observation: Although I am no less passionate about spiritual and religious matters, I suspect this blog might solicit a little more response than the previous one. We'll see.

Enough

This isn't about violins. I know a thing or two about violins now, how to make them and play them reasonably well. No this is about something of which I know much more than violins. This is about people, cultures and whole societies manipulating spiritual experience for their own gain and drastically cheapening it for others in the process.

I am tired of Tim Tebow. I am tired of evangelicals. I am tired of Rick Santorum, Mitt Romney and a host of other personalities selling their bag of goods. I am tired of any and all religions that are about destinations in the next life. I am more than tired of them. I am really fed up with them and that's why I'm writing this.

I go to church almost every week. I support my church to the tune of many thousands of dollars annually. I recite the Apostles Creed, the Lord's prayer, take communion and take part in many other weekly rituals. I sing in the choir, help the homeless and regularly visit an elderly parishioner with soup and a few pops. I do all these things because it's about living life responsibly, collectively and spiritually. It is not about a destination, it is not about seeing loved ones in the future that have left this world. It is not about answering a "call" someone has decided for me. I gave all of that up many, many years ago. I'll say it again. It's about living responsibly, collectively and spiritually.

Why isn't this enough. Why do we have to invent elaborate religious narratives about stuff of which NOBODY has the remotest clue. Sure, like I mentioned above I recite creeds, say prayers and perform other weekly rituals in church. Its like getting dressed in the morning, having a cup of coffee, having a pleasant word for the waitress in the coffee shop, treating employees like family, praising sons and daughters endlessly, loving spouses unconditionally and after all that, taking your dog for a daily walk.. These prayers, creeds and what I call "living in the Kingdom" are things we do that fill a life, that create a cadence, that play music in our souls. This is the essence of "the divine". There are endless varieties of this "life" dance. No one better than the next. But it pains me to no end when these beautiful brush strokes are co opted by "holy" men and women, religious organizations and other charlatans and turned to filth with narratives of exclusivity and bigoted piety.

This is it. There is no place else to go. It's not about answering to SOMEONE out there directing us. Why can't we grow up and discover the "divine" right here. Why do we insist on adding layers of gook to a dish of exquisite simple elegance.

ENOUGH!

One Hundred Years Ago Today

January 12th, 1912, the day my father was born, one hundred years to this day. A thousand thousand thoughts come and go in my mind, drift in - drift out. There is no one definitive image of my father. There are many. As many as I allow in. And as I dream further, more still.

It is not so much the memories that consume me, but the empty gaps. His mother who none of us, that is the grandchildren, knew; what were her thoughts one hundred years ago today? Did she hope to one day hold one of us in her arms as she was holding her infant son, dreaming what our lives would entail? She lived a mere seven years more. What were her thoughts in the last days of her influenza shortened life? Did she worry for her young son? Surely there was immense grief knowing she would not even live to see him grow into a young man. What were her thoughts one hundred years ago today? Did she dream of seeing my dad grow up and eventually marrying my mom. Did she dream of celebrating birthdays and Christmas and even our eventual marriage ceremonies?

Seven years are never enough. They were all she was given. Her first day of those seven began a hundred years ago today. What were her thoughts on that day?

There are so many gaps in the story. Who was my fathers best friend as a child growing up. Did he have a special valentine in kindergarten as I had some forty two years later? What were his thoughts as he graduated from high school, lacking family money for college and entering the work force in the beginning years of a historic economic depression? Who were his friends prior to meeting my mother during those tough '30s pre war years? On and on my thoughts wander, many many more questions than answers.

This day however, January 12th, 2012 is about remembering a fateful day a full one hundred years ago. About a mother and her newborn, her dreams for him and his life to come.