Reading a biography about Bob Dylan right now... The other night I had a dream that I was getting up in front of an audience to read an excerpt from "A Course in Miracles." There were several rows of people in front of me and I had to sort of cut through them to get up to the front. I was trying to figure out an easy way to get through and thought about making "a soulful bounding leap". I didn't and kept the thought to myself but woke up with that wonderful phrase from "Frankie Lee and Judas Priest" ringing in my ears.
Then last night I was doing a sound healing meditation at the Sound Body Wholistic Health Center in St. Petersburg, which I do every Monday night. Before I began one of the people in the group went outside to have a cigarette (no comment... :) Throughout most of the meditation I played a large Tibetan bowl, a couple of crystal bowls, gongs and a couple of other instruments. At the end I held a little set of chimes in my hand and played them very quietly. Suddenly I could feel myself sort of gently, but quickly, slipping out of my body. I put the chimes down and off I went... and suddenly there was Bob Dylan's face (slightly younger than he is now) in a very friendly and congenial way asking one person after another if they had quit smoking yet!
Is this remotely relevant to wholistic sound? Okay- probably not from a visionary aspect! But in the grand scheme of things on this plane, I would have to say yes, because Bob Dylan's music got me through some very tough times over the years. There were times, many times over many years and many stages in my life, that his music was the most healing thing I could listen to. How many hundreds of hours listening to more albums and more songs of his than I will bother to name... and how many hours playing my guitar and joyfully singing "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere", and in other moods, more introverted, sometimes angrier sometimes sadder, singing "Love Minus Zero, No Limits", "Masters of War", "Gates of Eden" and on and on... His music was like a healing balm for my heart and soul. It allowed me to feel deeply, when feeling deeply was frowned upon my so many people in my proximity. "Don't feel too much, don't cry too much" was the message I got.
Music allows us to ride the waves of our emotions and eventually reach a quiet shore, where we are, as we were told we would be, released.
Then last night I was doing a sound healing meditation at the Sound Body Wholistic Health Center in St. Petersburg, which I do every Monday night. Before I began one of the people in the group went outside to have a cigarette (no comment... :) Throughout most of the meditation I played a large Tibetan bowl, a couple of crystal bowls, gongs and a couple of other instruments. At the end I held a little set of chimes in my hand and played them very quietly. Suddenly I could feel myself sort of gently, but quickly, slipping out of my body. I put the chimes down and off I went... and suddenly there was Bob Dylan's face (slightly younger than he is now) in a very friendly and congenial way asking one person after another if they had quit smoking yet!
Is this remotely relevant to wholistic sound? Okay- probably not from a visionary aspect! But in the grand scheme of things on this plane, I would have to say yes, because Bob Dylan's music got me through some very tough times over the years. There were times, many times over many years and many stages in my life, that his music was the most healing thing I could listen to. How many hundreds of hours listening to more albums and more songs of his than I will bother to name... and how many hours playing my guitar and joyfully singing "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere", and in other moods, more introverted, sometimes angrier sometimes sadder, singing "Love Minus Zero, No Limits", "Masters of War", "Gates of Eden" and on and on... His music was like a healing balm for my heart and soul. It allowed me to feel deeply, when feeling deeply was frowned upon my so many people in my proximity. "Don't feel too much, don't cry too much" was the message I got.
Music allows us to ride the waves of our emotions and eventually reach a quiet shore, where we are, as we were told we would be, released.