Shaken and Stirred, One Rebel Soul, Please

Wind torments this lonely valley
Exhales and rattles tender bones
And creaks the timber, tree, and soul

Moan low the howl of wildness
Catch fire and spread the fever high
Burn these bones to dust


I miss the passion of my soul. I miss the need to call out to the wind, to let my voice mix and mingle with its force and travel far through canyon walls, echoes heard in foreign lands that bear seed and sun and pools of life. I miss the need to reach out and touch, to trigger tempests in seas of tranquility; of mediocrity; of stagnant, barnacled slumber. I want to stir the ground beneath, and feel the swell of storms of dirt as lightning sparks from finger tips. I want to create the revolution; through me, new life is borne.

I have been watching a documentary on the history of jazz. Though I am not a big jazz fan myself, I enjoy learning about how different forms of music have unfolded, as well as who were the channels who brought in paradigms of thought and expression previously unheard of. I admire the beings who are brave enough to hear and heed the creative voices others would deem as crazy. I admire the artists who are brave enough to stand alone, and through sheer gravity of will they bend the fabric of time and space around them.

I am blown away by Miles Davis. This was a cat who, drowning so deep in the love affair with heroine, sold his horn and became a pimp to bankroll his addiction. And yet, in a moment of clarity, he decided to break the affair off. Alone, he went to his father's house, locked himself in a room, and for seven days danced with the demon of addiction until he came out clean. No help, no meds to temper the rage. Just a cold turkey decision and an empty room away from all who could derail his train. And then, much later in his career, he was offered a recording contract at Columbia...a major move that sent him mainstream. The problem? He was stuck in a contract with a lesser label for four more records. His solution? He went into the studio and cranked out four albums in two days. TWO DAYS. His mind made up, his force of spirit on fire, he pulled out of his head and heart a stream of brilliance that filled the depths of four albums. No retakes, no corrections. Who does that?

That is what I want for myself. I want to bite so deep into the flesh of life that its blood transforms my essence. I want to call out and be heard, to shake the ground with a power that sets all squeally vermin of night and shadow running for the rocks they crawled out from. I want to be the revolution, to grow my toes into the earth and, thus rooted, let reality know that I am here to stay.

Rattle my bones in winds of fierceness; the chimes, deafening, will call and sing forever.