The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
Bright colors
Big balloons
On a hot summer day in freaky February, power lines gently hum in the thin blue haze, and neighborhood radios. The drone of a distant prop plane is the bass line for shimmering birds. Pots and pans clunking in the kitchen sink are startled by a car horn outside. Glasses tinkle. Why is our neighbor's dog barking?
For the untutored it might be a complaint. Getting tutored is playing wash tub bass, but doesn't get much respect. Or thimbles on a washboard are just fine. Rhythm is fundamental. In a symphony the tympani plays its role, but probably not the tonic note. The neighbor's small dog with snippy barks recalls a recent nightmare, that goes on -- Flying over a new car lot on El Camino, past decrepit TV antennas, dullard reality accepted on the way to god knows what. But bright colors. Big balloons.
Chaos is neglect.
You don't earn musical talent by doing pushups. Those without it can practice forever. Taking credit is foolish, but doing something with it earns a realization that there is order in the universe. Without it, harmony is not possible. Or it could be shooting hoops. Finding a knack for wood carving. For those who get the pattern, music and mathematics are ongoing discoveries. To some degree, as in our inherent circadian rhythm, everyone is it. We are born with more than is usually realized.
This usual understanding belies another dimension which subsumes all and does not display itself. It need not. It is not attained by doing anything. In fact it may be enjoyed by doing nothing. In any case, what's beyond words happens on its own. Or it doesn't just happen but is. Likewise, it also isn't. One plays the right note without doing pushups.
Another dimension? Think of improvisation when rules have been forgotten. Basically, all rhythm is circadian, and we embody the harmony of the universe.
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_