Month: December 2019

Once back in the spring of 1973, (I think it was) I spent the night right in the center of Spanish Harlem in New York City. The marimbas were playing all through the night, and people were singing, dancing and cooking, because it was a Saturday night. There were screams of joy, and a few of pain. I slept well that night, with the smell of the spicy food creeping into my dreams and making me famished for breakfast.

We had been to the site of the newly built, soon to be opened World Trade Center earlier that evening, and had been invited to go up part of the way in an elevator by a construction foreman. There were four of us young men: a long tall Texas boy, an African American former college football player from Kentucky, our bespectacled New York native Peace Corp member…in whose apartment we were staying, and me…the backwoods Georgia boy.

We rode the subways, visited the harbor where lady liberty stood, and got hot dogs at Coney Island. Nobody had a bad word to say to us, never disparaged our little mixed group, or even looked at us funny. We went about the town fearlessly, never anticipating any harm or trouble. Just three out of towner’s getting shown the ropes by the city boy.

Those lights, music and smells from that night still bubble to the top of my memory from time to time, and I wonder how the world has gotten so much more callous and hateful in forty short years. I’d like to go back in time once again and look out over the lights of Manhattan from those soon to be opened, ill fated towers and yell out to the people below to stay the same as they were.

I thought to myself: “it’s taken me this long to really understand life”.

Warm socks and clean underwear really count!

Leftovers are fine….even three days in a row.

Walking is wonderful therapy, and noticing what’s going on around you is rewarding.

Petting your dog and talking to them like they’re human is perfectly fine.

Realizing that you can’t agree with everyone about everything, but you can agree with most people about “some” things will help preserve your sanity.

Loving your family and those who are as close as family, as often as possible, as completely as possible, and without condition will help preserve your spirit.

Maybe that’s not really understanding life, but simply living it a little more.

In all things there is change. Some for the good, some not. We humans change so many times during our lives. I only now realize how my grandparents…my parents, felt as they were getting older. It’s a definite change.

We start our lives in a full tub of “life”. We are in the very back corner of that full tub….that tub which is a different level for each of us. As soon as we are born, the plug is pulled and our life starts to drain. The closer we get to the “drain” the faster our life moves. The journey will…change…you.

I saw some of the ways it changed my loved ones as they raced towards the spiral at the end. I’m determined I will not change in some of those ways….and yet, much of what happens is out of my control.

So I suppose I will control what I can, and live with what I cannot control. What more can we do?

What more can we ask except for the chance to try and fulfill our best in life? It’s a true gift to be given the chance to even try. It’s a true gift to not be alone….to have people to love, and who love you back.

Inside each of us there are two people. There is the “public” us, the person we show to everyone else around….we show the things we want people to see, the things we think people want to see, the things we think will get us ahead, the things that will make us accepted. Most of our outside life is reflective of this image.

Then there is the “private” us, the being who keeps things secret, the person who most accurately reflects what we really are, the us we share with practically nobody. The things which perhaps others around us could never accept, or would accept with only malice.or misunderstanding. The life we think about when we lay awake in bed at night.

We all are two, no matter what we may think. I believe the more of the private “us” we can show, the more spiritually and mentally healthy we will be. It’s hard though, and I believe it can never be totally and completely done.

There’s always that part of us of which we will never let go.

From 2013- On prayer.

The year was 1954, and it was the first time I can remember being at the “Old Zion” Baptist Church in Blue Ridge Georgia. I remember it for a couple of reasons.

First of all, I had apparently at that young age already admired my Grandfather’s ability to get up and wave his hands around while people sang. I had no concept really of what a song leader was. I may have even thought that people wouldn’t sing at all unless Grandpa waved his hands around. It was the magic of the waving of the hands which caused the singing. I wanted to be magic too. I don’t remember whether or not I asked permission to do it, but I do remember being up behind the pulpit in front of the choir with Grandpa and “magically” waving around my hands. People were singing for sure, but they were all also smiling. I didn’t know they were smiling at me. I just knew they were happy and I thought it was the magic of the waving hands that was making it so.

Throughout all the years I continued to visit that church during my trips to visit my Grandparents, there would always be someone I would meet out on the street in town, or at the lake, or at the church who would inevitably tell the story about how tickled they were at the little four year old boy who helped his Grandpa lead the music. At first I was a little bit embarrassed about it, but as the “legend” grew it kind of bolstered my confidence in my musical abilities a little to hear how well I sang that day. It was one of the things which kept me singing over the years, and led to me being a soloist, songwriter and the lover of music that I am. Without the positive reinforcement of these wonderful “country” people I might have gone with my natural tendency to shyness and never have been able to perform in front of a crowd. I really thank them for their kindness and generosity.

The other thing that came to mind during the recent service was the way which the prayer used to be conducted at O’ Zion as they called it.

In an “Old Country” Church, anytime anyone prays; everyone prays. If a preacher starts the prayer, it’s not long until all the other people join in praying out loud, each offering up their own separate praises, requests, and wishes to their creator.

When I was little I thought this cacophony was pure noise. But as I go older, it started to take on a different quality. After a minute or two of listening, all of the voices began to blend together into one. There was no longer the ability to pick out one single voice and listen to it, it was impossible.

However, far from being just noise the prayers started to take on a quality of purity and holiness that I have not often felt since. They were almost musical and lyrical in their quality and there was a cadence to them that spoke of a sincerity it is hard to find in today’s world. You knew that God was hearing this and that he could understand each and every one of these simultaneous pleadings. As the prayers began to stop one by one as the individuals finished their contrition’s, it got to the point where it would come down to three, two and then finally just one voice, the voice of the preacher who would always be the one to begin and end the prayers. It was almost miraculous how they stopped. Never, ever all at once, but in an orderly fashion perhaps in the order of the importance of what they had to say or to ask of God.

I sometimes felt like a wind was moving through that Church. Even during the heat of August you could feel it and it was cooling and comforting. During December it would warm the body and cause the soul to glow with love. Some would call it the Holy Spirit. I won’t dispute their word on that. I don’t know if Churches anywhere still pray that way today. I think sometimes people may think it’s rude to pray out loud at the same time as another person. I don’t think it’s rude at all. It sort of just makes sense because then it’s not just a bunch of individuals weakly projecting their unheard mental thoughts towards the heavens, but a bunch of strong worshipers openly telling God their needs.

It makes a difference.

I know it does.