What's behind the (screen) name, part II

 After explaining the second half of my name, guess I might as well cover the first also...

Kali (Sanskrit: काली, Bengali: কালী, both Kālī), also known as Kalika (Bengali: কালিকা, Kālikā), is the Hindu goddess associated with eternal energy. The name Kali comes from Kāla which means black, time, death, lord of death, Shiva. Kali means "the black one". Since Shiva is called Kāla - the eternal time, Kālī, his consort, also means "the Time" or "Death" (as in time has come). Hence, Kali is considered the goddess of time and change. Although sometimes presented as dark and violent, her earliest incarnation as a figure of annihilation still has some influence. Various Shakta Hindu cosmologies, as well as Shakta Tantric beliefs, worship her as the ultimate reality or Brahman. She is also revered as Bhavatarini (literally "redeemer of the universe"). Comparatively recent devotional movements largely conceive Kali as a benevolent mother goddess.

Kali is represented as the consort of Lord Shiva, on whose body she is often seen standing. She is associated with many other Hindu goddesses like Durga, Bhadrakali, Sati, Rudrani, Parvati and Chamunda. She is the foremost among the Dasa Mahavidyas, ten fierce Tantric goddesses.

Kālī is the feminine of kāla ("black, dark coloured").^[2] Kāla primarily means "black," but also means "time." Kālī means "the black one" and also "time" or "beyond time." Kali is strongly associated with Shiva, and Shaivas derive her feminine name from the masculine Kāla (an epithet of Shiva). The early Sanskrit dictionary, the Shabdakalpadrum, states: कालः शिवः । तस्य पत्नीति - काली । kālaḥ śivaḥ । tasya patnīti kālī - "Shiva is Kala, thus his wife is Kali."


Kali's association with blackness stands in contrast to her consort, Shiva, whose body is covered by the white ashes of the cremation ground (Sanskrit: śmaśāna) in which he meditates, and with which Kali is also associated, as śmaśāna-kālī.

In the Mahanirvana-tantra, Kali is one of the epithets for the primordial sakti, and in one passage Shiva praises her:

At the dissolution of things, it is Kala [Time] Who will devour all, and by reason of this He is called Mahakala [an epithet of Lord Shiva], and since Thou devourest Mahakala Himself, it is Thou who art the Supreme Primordial Kalika. Because Thou devourest Kala, Thou art Kali, the original form of all things, and because Thou art the Origin of and devourest all things Thou art called the Adya [primordial Kali]. Resuming after Dissolution Thine own form, dark and formless, Thou alone remainest as One ineffable and inconceivable. Though having a form, yet art Thou formless; though Thyself without beginning, multiform by the power of Maya, Thou art the Beginning of all, Creatrix, Protectress, and Destructress that Thou art.

The figure of Kali conveys death, destruction, and the consuming aspects of reality. As such, she is also a "forbidden thing", or even death itself. In the Pancatattva ritual, the sadhaka boldly seeks to confront Kali, and thereby assimilates and transforms her into a vehicle of salvation. This is clear in the work of the Karpuradi-stotra, a short praise to Kali describing the Pancatattva ritual unto her, performed on cremation grounds. (Samahana-sadhana)

He, O Mahakali who in the cremation-ground, naked, and with dishevelled hair, intently meditates upon Thee and recites Thy mantra, and with each recitation makes offering to Thee of a thousand Akanda flowers with seed, becomes without any effort a Lord of the earth. 0 Kali, whoever on Tuesday at midnight, having uttered Thy mantra, makes offering even but once with devotion to Thee of a hair of his Sakti [his female companion] in the cremation-ground, becomes a great poet, a Lord of the earth, and ever goes mounted upon an elephant.

The Karpuradi-stotra clearly indicates that Kali is more than a terrible, vicious, slayer of demons who serves Durga or Shiva. Here, she is identified as the supreme mistress of the universe, associated with the five elements. In union with Lord Shiva, who is said to be her spouse, she creates and destroys worlds. Her appearance also takes a different turn, befitting her role as ruler of the world and object of meditation.^[10] In contrast to her terrible aspects, she takes on hints of a more benign dimension. She is described as young and beautiful, has a gentle smile, and makes gestures with her two right hands to dispel any fear and offer boons. The more positive features exposed offer the distillation of divine wrath into a goddess of salvation, who rids the sadhaka of fear. Here, Kali appears as a symbol of triumph over death.

^{All text in this and the previous post was lifted from Wikipedia.}

What's behind the (screen) name

A gentleman over at Tumblr just posted something highly relevant.  Every now and again I'm asked for an explanation of my intarwebs name.  I kind of hate to dispel the mystery, but for anyone who's ever wondered yet not asked, here's part of it.  But before you go thinking that this is how I grandiosely see myself, allow me to clarify-- These goddesses are symbolic references for me.  They are examples, not identifiers.  

In Hinduism, Durga (Sanskrit: दुर्गा, meaning “the inaccessible”  or “the invincible”; Bengali: দুর্গা, durga) orMaa Durga (Bengali: মা দুর্গা, ma durga, meaning “Mother Durga”) “one who can redeem in situations of utmost distress”. Durga is a form of Devi, the supremely radiant goddess, depicted as having ten arms, riding a lion or atiger, carrying weapons and a lotus flower, maintaining a meditative smile, and practicing mudras, or symbolic hand gestures.

An embodiment of creative feminine force (Shakti), Durga exists in a state of svātantrya (independence from the universe and anything/anybody else, i.e., self-sufficiency) and fierce compassion. Kali is considered by Hindus to be an aspect of Durga. Durga is also the mother of Ganesha and Kartikeya.  She is thus considered the fiercer, demon-fighting form of Shiva’s wife, goddess Parvati. Durga manifests fearlessness and patience, and never loses her sense of humor, even during spiritual battles of epic proportion.

The word Shakti means divine feminine force, and Durga is the warrior aspect of the Divine Mother. Other incarnations include Annapurna and Karunamayi (karuna= kindness). Durga’s darker aspect Kali is represented as the consort of the god Shiva, on whose body she is often seen standing.

As a goddess, Durga’s feminine power contains the energies of the gods. Each of her weapons was gifted to her by various gods: Rudra’s trident, Vishnu’s discus, Indra’s thunderbolt, Brahma’s kamandalu, Kuber’s Ratnahar, etc.

According to a narrative in the Devi Mahatmya story of the Markandeya Purana text, Durga was created as a warrior goddess to fight an asura (an inhumane force/demon) named Mahishasur. He had unleashed a reign of terror on earth, heaven and the nether worlds, and he could not be defeated by any man or god, anywhere. The gods went to Brahma, who had given Mahishasura the power to be the invincible conqueror of the universe. Brahma could do nothing. They made Brahma their leader and went to Vaikuntha — the place where Vishnu lay on Ananta Naag. They found bothVishnu and Shiva, and Brahma eloquently related the reign of terror Mahishasur had unleashed on the three worlds. Hearing this Vishnu, Shiva and all of the gods became very angry and beams of fierce light emerged from their bodies. The blinding sea of light met at the Ashram of a priest named Katyan. The goddess Durga took the name Katyani from the priest and emerged from the sea of light. She introduced herself in the language of the Rig-Veda, saying she was the form of the supreme Brahman who had created all the gods. Now she had come to fight the demon to save the gods. They did not create her; it was her lila that she emerged from their combined energy. The gods were blessed with her compassion.

It is said that upon initially encountering Durga, Mahishasura underestimated her, thinking: “How can a woman kill me, Mahishasur — the one who has defeated the trinity of gods?” However, Durga roared with laughter, which caused an earthquake which made Mahishasur aware of her powers.

And the terrible Mahishasur rampaged against her, changing forms many times. First he was a buffalo demon, and she defeated him with her sword. Then he changed forms and became an elephant that tied up the goddess’s tiger and began to pull it towards him. The goddess cut off his trunk with her sword. The demon Mahishasur continued his terrorizing, taking the form of a lion, and then the form of a man, but both of them were gracefully slain by Durga.

Then Mahishasur began attacking once more, starting to take the form of a buffalo again. The patient goddess became very angry, and as she sipped divine wine from a cup she smiled and proclaimed to Mahishasur in a colorful tone — “Roar with delight while you still can, O illiterate demon, because when I will kill you after drinking this, the gods themselves will roar with delight”. When Mahashaur had half emerged into his buffalo form, he was paralyzed by the extreme light emitting from the goddess’s body. The goddess then resounded with laughter before cutting Mahishasur’s head down with her sword.

All text in this and the following post was lifted from Wikipedia.

Precursor to autumn

After a record-breaking string of 90+ degree days (including many that were 100+) accompanied by a drought that brought local rivers to depths of less than two feet, capped off by one day of thunderstorms of biblical proportions, the mid-Atlantic region got a break this weekend.  Today was supposed to be mostly sunny with periods of clouds, and temps in the 80's.  Instead, we had consistently cloudy skies with a cool breeze.  Normally that sort of sky turns me lethargic, but the cooler air was inviting so I stopped myself from thinking of things like easy chairs and coffee shops and books, and instead directed my body to mindlessly go through the process of getting bike and gear ready to go.  

Considering that today was Saturday I expected the rail-trail and towpath at Hancock to be packed, but the lowering clouds apparently had the sort of effect on everyone else that they normally have on me.  There were few other cyclists to dodge, which was a pleasant surprise that helped me to quickly get into a smooth rhythm.  

Now, while I love a good equinox as much as the next person, I'm convinced that the seasons don't follow the earth's rotational phases as much as they do the human-defined calendar.  Autumn is September, October, and November, which means today was the beginning of the end of summer.  The air was the sort of temperature that you don't even feel against your skin.  And the trail was gorgeous under the dim light of the cloudy sky.  Without the glare of a blazing sun or the haze of humidity, the surrounding trees were softer yet at the same time more distinct.  Added to this was the rustle of leaves under my tires, though these leaves were drought-deadened and knocked to the ground by the recent storms, rather than autumn-turned.  The effect was the same, though, summoning that feeling of transition, one season ending as another begins, both exciting and melancholy at the same time.  That simple, wonderful feeling I've gotten at this time of year, every year since I was a kid.



Though could someone please explain to me why I always end up riding through mud the very next day after I've cleaned my bike?


                   

The Dead Weather: A storm a-ragin' at the 9:30 Club

I didn't write in much detail about my first experiences with The Dead Weather earlier this year in Memphis and Nashville.  The DW shows I've attended this year have also been my first experience with Jack White and seeing the man live on stage is, shall we say, more than slightly intense.  Jack is a powerhouse performer, whether behind the drum kit, out front with a guitar, or even pacing the stage with nothing in hand but a microphone.  The concentrated energy just radiates from him and infects the entire audience.  Something about how that energy affected me tonight compels me to want to share the experience this time, which is entirely contrary to how I felt before.  Third (!) time's the charm, I guess.

Thanks to the generosity of a fellow fan, I was spared from having to camp out in line all afternoon in order to get a good spot in front of the stage.  The weather forecast all week had predicted a 60% chance of thunderstorms from afternoon through evening, which would have been miserable.  Instead, the clouds broke somewhat and the day became brutally hot.  I would've suffered it, not gladly but willingly, if a very cool dude from the White Stripes message board hadn't posted an offer to let someone be his 'plus one' if he managed to win the early entry lottery that's open to ten fan club members, plus guest, per show.  This is the second time I've had an amazing DW experience as someone's 'plus one' and, for such a seemingly little thing, it goes a long way toward restoring my oft-bruised faith in humanity. 

So instead of broiling under the humid sun, I was able to relax, get to the venue a few minutes before the doors opened, and then stroll in ahead of the crowd to claim my particularly chosen spot at the front, the same spot I had for the two previous shows in Tennessee, and the spot I will aim for again come August when the DW plays Baltimore--  on the right, just between Alison and LJ, with a mostly unobstructed view of Jack's drumkit.  If you happen to attend a DW show that I'm at and decide to snatch that spot from me, just know that you do so at your peril.  Not long after my early entry patron and I got settled up front and the rest of the crowd began making its way in, a young kid of 12 or so popped up behind us and announced that this was his second concert ever and his first time seeing Jack White.  His dad had apparently forgotten one of their tickets and was waiting out front for Mom to deliver it, but sent the boy in ahead so he could get a good spot.  Of course, we immediately squeezed him up to the rail and kept an eye on him throughout the evening.  It turned out to be a ball hanging out with him before and during the show, seeing his excitement and discussing music in general and the DW in particular with someone whose perspective is so fresh and unjaded.

Harlem, the opening act, were three very cute young boys who acted very casually about their set but played fairly tightly and with great energy.  They provided a fun warm up and had us all raring to go for the DW.  And D.C. was more than ready-- the show sold out almost immediately when tickets went on sale two months before, and many people apparently remembered that the band had kicked off their 2009 tour on almost exactly the same day in the same venue.  Everyone was expecting a hell of a show.

The band seemed to sense this as soon as they hit the stage.  They tore through 60 Feet Tall, and both Alison and Jack broke into big grins over the crowd response at the end of the song.  From there it was right into Hang You From the Heavens, with Jack twirling his drumsticks between cymbal smashes and the audience singing word for word along with Alison.  Despite Jack's insistence in recent interviews that the band's begun playing without a setlist, they pretty much followed standard formula tonight, following HYFtH with (some of this is sure to be out of order, it all becomes a blur on the drive home)--


You Just Can't Win
So Far From Your Weapon
I Cut Like a Buffalo
No Horse
The Difference Between Us
I'm Mad
Gasoline 
Rocking Horse
Rolling In On a Burning Tire 
Gasoline
Hustle & Cuss
Die By the Drop
Will There Be Enough Water?

Encore
Blue Blood Blues
I Can't Hear You
Treat Me Like Your Mother


Much as I adore 2009 performances of the song, I was not terribly looking forward to You Just Can't Win.  For some reason I can't begin to determine, Jack's vocals during their spring 2010 shows became unaccountably... histrionic.  His voice was fine, but his delivery was terribly over-dramatized.  Perhaps it was having a bit of a break before this tour, perhaps it was the obvious excitement of the audience, I don't know what it was, but he was spot on tonight, singing emotionally yet with a much more relaxed manner.  And having a hell of a time, apparently-- smiling repeatedly, chatting to the crowd a few times between songs (which, unfortunately, I couldn't understand a word of due to the mic at his drumkit being way too damned low in the mix).

The absolute highlight of the show was, as is often the case, Will There Be Enough Water?. The slowest moment of any Dead Weather show, it's also the most intense (there's that word again) as Jack comes from out behind the drums to strap on his guitar and share a mic with Alison as they croon the spare lyrics of the song.  The solo that he launched into tonight between the second and third verse was mind-blowing.  The potential for this was the reason for my determination to get the spot I had on the rail.  With his pedal board directly in front of me, I had a long handful of minutes to watch the man up close.  So close, in fact, that it became difficult to figure out what to look at--  the expressions on his face as he lost himself in the music, his fret hand picking out chords, the other hand switching continuously from strumming to finger-picking to bending notes with the whammy bar, or his feet in those oh-so-cool white winkle-pickers tapping the various pedals on his board.  And on top of all of that going on, I found myself being repeatedly drawn into eye-contact with the honkin' huge, gleaming silver, head of the Creature of the Black Lagoon belt buckle at his waist. The damned thing was staring right at me, winking as the stage lights hit it.  No wonder my mind was blown.

This is very close to the view I had. The person who filmed these was about four people to my left, also on the rail.




In all seriousness, though, as fantastic as it is to listen to Jack play, it really is amazing to watch him. Especially for someone like me who's never had any interest in playing a guitar myself, to hear the sounds he creates and, at the same time, to see, ok, here he's finger-picking, here he's hitting the whammy, that's where he hits the pedal... It's just incredibly fascinating. I've always been drawn to guitar-driven music, but he's the first musician who's made me want to understand it.

Yes, this review is heavily Jack-centric.  I make no apologies for that, he's the reason I was at the show.  Alison, in the few moments that I watched her, was her usual dynamic self, belting out each song and mesmerizing the crowd with her gaze, including the kid at my side who's probably getting a hell of an early, somewhat subconscious, sex-ed through this band.  I can think of worse women than Alison to inspire teenaged wet-dreams.  At least he won't grow up expecting his women to be submissive.  And, as before in Tennessee, I didn't give LJ or Dean the attention they deserved.  I heard them both clearly and appreciated the hell out of their contribution to the show but, no, I didn't watch them.  I'll try to make it up to them later on in Baltimore.

During the drive home, the skies finally delivered on the predicted storms.  Heat lightning glimmered through the clouds as I headed out of the city, before letting loose a deluge of rain on the highway.  I was soaked on the short run from the car into the house and sat down dripping wet to write this, while thunder rumbled outside the window.  Somehow, it seemed appropriate to document an aural storm while feeling the effects of a physical one.  Let the  weather/Weather rage.    

             
    

Random babblings: A chance encounter

Today was one of those muggy, hazy, hot and humid days that we get strings of in the mid-Atlantic area.  Had to get out for a ride anyway.  The tree-lined C & O Canal towpath, running parallel to the Potomac River for 184 miles, is the perfect spot in this sort of weather, tree-lined and shaded, though it is beset with large populations of gnats and mosquitoes.  And large numbers of people on summer days like today.  Ok, so it's close to perfect, but not quite.

Anyway, I got out for a ride today on the C & O.  There's a particular spot where the towpath runs past a parking area and boat launch.  At the far end of the parking area, an old road disappears around a bend into a wooded parcel of land created by the Potomac swinging away from the canal in a large horseshoe curve.  Of course, I followed it to see where it went.  Perhaps a mile or so back, the road suddenly ran up a steep stretch that I decided was too steep for such a hot day, so I got off the bike and began walking.  A couple dozen feet from the top, a doe suddenly stepped over top of the hill from the other side.  We both stopped in our tracks to stare.  Then, the tiniest little fawn I have ever seen came bouncing into sight, all skittery-legged and gawky.  The doe's attention was on me and she paced slowly back and forth, stomping and snorting to get a reaction from me, while the fawn tried to match her movements and keep her close.  I just leaned against my bike and watched, enjoying the sight of them and the sun shining through the leaves of the trees above them.  After a few minutes of this, the doe suddenly decided she'd had enough and was off into the woods in two bounds, leaving the fawn to follow as best it could after a moment's startled hesitation.  By the time I walked the rest of the way up the hill, they had disappeared through the trees.

This sort of thing just does not happen when there are other people around.

I am officially old and curmudgeonly

So last night, about 10:30 or so, I'm getting ready to go to bed.  As I was pulling back the covers, I suddenly heard a woman screaming, agonizingly, as if she were being beaten.  I listened for a moment, then threw some clothes on and went to open the front door to see if I could figure out where it was coming from.  On the sidewalk in front of the small park across the street was a crowd of teenagers carrying on, a bunch of girls judging by the sound of their voices.  I decided I wasn't in the mood for teenaged crap, so I yelled over to them to shut up.  One of them turned around and yelled back, "You want to fight, old lady?"  I just stood there for a moment, honestly flabbergasted.  I had no idea how to reply to that.

I should have said, "Sure, I love to fight teenage girls, it's my favorite thing! Lemme go get my switchblade and my num-chucks and I'll be right over!"

Uh-huh.

Then she yelled it again and I yelled back something about calling the cops and her friends flipped out and dragged her off down the street.  I went back inside, but didn't go to bed because I began getting paranoid that the mouthy one was going to talk her friends into coming back and throwing a rock through my window or something.  Finally hit the sack a bit after midnight, and spent the next five hours tossing restlessly.

Guess it's time to go buy a rocking chair and a shot gun for the front porch.

Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do?

Words are sacred. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you can nudge the world a little….   -  Tom Stoppard

It happens every now and again, at least to me if not to you.  Words form and flow out through mouth, pen, or keyboard, but just don't come out the way they were intended to.  They take on a life of their own, as it were, conveying a different tone or meaning than they had in the brain.  You can practically hear them laughing at you as they cause themselves to be misinterpreted.  They nudge the world in the wrong direction.  And then, of course, comes the response to these rogue phrases, which can leave you (or at least, me) sitting flummoxed by the disdain thrown back at you.

Happened to me once again just yesterday.  I'm sure it won't be the last time, but you would think I'd learn.  One thing I have definitely figured out, though, is to take a look at my reaction to these situations--  This time around, it was a mix of embarrassment that I had expressed myself so poorly, frustration that people couldn't see through my ill-chosen words to the real intent behind them, and hurt over some of the harsh things said in reply.  Such a combination of emotions makes it difficult to not lapse back into the sullen misanthropic state that I've spent the last few years struggling to climb out of.

So why do these occurrences affect me so deeply?  There is a part of me that's fully aware that I'm not alone in making verbal mistakes, that the people who really care about me won't be swayed by my misstep, and that the entire situation will pass from memory sooner or later.  But there's another part that I've realized resides in my shadow side--  A small, insecure bit of me that wants to be accepted and appreciated, that's terrified of ostracism.  I say that this is a part of my shadow because I've always prided myself on not needing the approval of others, on recognizing my own merits and having the assurance to stand alone if need be.  But in exploring the anger that I've carried around for most of my life, I discovered just what I was sublimating in my unconscious-- My social nature, that primitive part of all of us that needs to feel it belongs to a tribe of some sort.  I've had to admit that, as content as I can be alone, it does feel good to connect with people with whom I share common interests and values.  But once such a connection is made, difficulties in communication prick at this shadowy segment of my self and send it into a panicky, aggravated tailspin.  Do I try to explain myself, re-word my statement, clarify my intent?  Or will the attempt just dig me deeper into the mire?  Do I refrain and wait for my faux pas to become a distant memory?  Or will my silence also be misinterpreted?  Why are situations that are usually really quite trivial also so damned baffling? 

Well, somebody walked up to me,

but I didn't know what to do.

And then somebody said hello to me,

but I didn't know what to do.

Because I think that my words could get twisted,

so I bend my back over, take a gulp, be funny,

'cause I know there's nothing I can do.

Then my mother tried to pick me up

when I was sittin' down on the ground.

Something forced my little eyes to come open,

but I couldn't make out the sound.

It doesn't matter 'cause my eyes are lying

and they don't have emotion,

don't wanna be social, can't take it when they hate me,

but I know there's nothing I can do.

When my thoughts start to feel like mine,

they're taken from me, it seems to happen every time.

And the feelings that are fine for you,

there's somebody there

who doesn't think they are true,

So think of something new,

there's nothing left to do.

And then my idols walk next to me,

I look up at them, they fade away.

It's a destruction of a mystery,

the more I listen to what they say.

So does that mean that there's no more doin',

and there's no more thinkin',

and there's no more feeling,

'cause there's no right opinion...

So can you tell me what I'm supposed to do?

Nashville and Dead Weather, in more ways than one

Now that other things are out of my system, it's necessary to talk about another element that made The Dead Weather's live album preview performance so exceptional.  In the midst of figuring out how to get off from work and how to arrange the timing of my flights there and back, I was made aware of an additional potential complication--  the catastrophic flooding of Nashville and much of Tennessee.

  Photo borrowed from upressing.com

The weather was absolutely gorgeous when I was in Nashville on Thursday of my road trip.  By Saturday night, when I was simultaneously in the Third Man Records Vault chat room and on Expedia, Nashvillians in the chat were telling me to think twice about coming.  The highways were being shut down, and there were already news reports of one or two people being swept away and killed in the flood waters.  

   Photo from a May 3rd blog post at Bear Creek Ledger.

It sounded scary as hell.  How on earth could it have happened so quickly?  There was talk that the band wouldn't be able to make it into town from Louisiana, but no official word from their website.  So I charged ahead and made my plans.  The show was two nights away, things had to get better by then, hadn't they?  

It's obvious by now that both the band and I, and over a hundred other fans, all made it.  Not everyone was so lucky-- One Vault member's wife was still stuck in Texas as of Monday, after American Airlines canceled all of their flights to Nashville on Saturday night.  But knowing what we'd all gone through to get there made the bonding easier.  While no one in attendance that I know of was severely affected, some of us had flown in not knowing what we'd be dealing with, and some had come despite having no power in their homes.  It created a shared experience.  

And, in the midst of all the excitement, my heart went out to The Dead Weather and the staff at Third Man Records.  Jack White and his people live in and around Nashville and there was no telling how they might have been impacted by the disaster.  They seemed to be thinking only of us fans and putting on an incredibly electric show for us.  Knowing this added an emotional impact to the performance that made it doubly special beyond it's exclusivity.  I read one message board comment the next day that mentioned how quickly Jack left after the show was over, as if implying that he should've stuck around to sign autographs or something.  And yet this is what was going on in the town where he apparently lives:


Franklin TN Flood 05-02-10 May 2010 from Jonathan Melton on Vimeo.

Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't bolt directly from the stage to his car.

So forgive me for proselytizing, but this event has moved me.  Between the fact that it's Jack's chosen base of operations and that I was able to connect with a bunch of lovely people there, I've been touched by this part of the country and am eager to see it get through this.  

More importantly, Nashville is a beautiful city that figures prominently in Americana through both its history and music.  Much like New Orleans, it's been through hell and deserves our support.  The Grand Ole Opry House is closed indefinitely for repairs, though the heart of the Opry, the treasured section of stage salvaged from the previously destroyed historic Ryman Auditorium, was fortunately not severely damaged.  Many people lost everything they had because they never expected to need flood insurance.  And a friend in the Vault chat room told me last night of how his little girl's softball games are being re-scheduled to other fields because the local one is still under multiple feet of water.  Just because you don't see this in the news does not mean it's gone away.  The people of Nashville will be living with it for a long while, though their heart and determination are sure to get them through it.  That's something to respect.   

   Photo borrowed from Nashvillest.com

   My own photo, taken from the opposite side of the river from the one above, standing next to a restaurant that was trying to pump water back out into the street.  Seemed a losing battle, what with the river at the same level as that street. 


Ways to help, if you can and want to:

-  So Nashville is Flooded... How Can I Help? is probably the best source out there, with an extensive list of options for donations and volunteering.

-  Nashville Flood Tees, also available at Render Apparel    

   


-  And, if you're curious, here's what Jack's doing:  Jack White lending profit, hand to flood relief.

Carry this burden now until the moment of your last breath

Old Mary, full of grease,

Your heart stops within you.

Scary are the fruits of your tomb,

And harsh are the terms of your sentence.

Old Mary, sister of mine,
Mother to the world,

Carry this burden now until the moment of your last breath.

Now until the moment of your last breath...

So, I went back to Nashville. Got home from my Dead Weather DC-to-Memphis road trip Friday night.  As I was catching up on teh intarwebs, a fellow blogger/Jack-fan messaged me to say that she was one of 20 people who'd won entry into The Dead Weather's pre-release, invite-only, live performance of their new album, Sea of Cowards, that was to take place at Third Man Records on Monday night.  Did I fancy a trip back to Nashville as her plus-one?  Considering that I was still high from the road-trip, the Memphis show, and visiting Third Man on Thursday, I'll leave you to imagine my response. 

Yet I had to immediately catch my breath, as this would be more complex than just hopping a plane.  I was due back at work for a partial day on Saturday and full-time as of Monday.  How to get a few more days off for yet another show?  Here's the kicker--  

I'd already been planning to ask for another day.  On the way home from Tennessee, I'd received a call from my father informing me of a death in the family.  My parents and sister were going to drive up from Florida to Virginia for the funeral, could I get time off from work to join them?  Knowing my employer's dictum that family comes first, I knew that would be no problem.  Of course I would join them at the funeral on Tuesday.

And yet, now I had my own priority staring me in the face.  Musical obsessions are a difficult thing to explain to most people.  Star Wars fanatics or Trekkies might get it, as they'll move hell or high water to make it to their costumed conventions.  A more apt comparison, though, might be to the junkies who prowl the methadone clinic next door to Third Man Records.  Music has such an emotional impact that it can get into your system like a drug, and your chosen musician can become the supplier that you'd figuratively crawl through broken glass to get to in order to satisfy your cravings.  And Jack White's a pusher extraordinaire, coming up with increasingly enticing methods to deliver the raw purity of his musical vision.  

So what was I to do?  This was the sort of offer that just does not come along every day.  The answer jumped right into my already worn-out and over-stimulated brain-- Use the funeral as an excuse.  The logistics would be tricky, getting to Nashville for Monday night's show and then back home by Tuesday morning to meet my family.  What was trickier, though, was the conversation with my boss the next morning.

Was it worth trying to explain why I really needed both Monday and Tuesday off?  No.  Much simpler was to re-write the death to be that of a more immediate family member, say, an uncle instead of a great-uncle.  And if that uncle were being buried in Florida instead of Virginia, then that would necessitate two days off so that I could fly down to be with my family.  It would work.  But did I have the balls for the fabrication? 

I've done some bad things... They get easier to do

I've told some doozies in my time, back when I was a kid.  But I'd more or less developed some integrity by the time I became an adult, especially after discovering Buddhism.  Now, I've never actually referred to myself as "a Buddhist" because I haven't felt ready for a total commitment to the practice, but I have tried over the last few years to follow the Buddhist precepts as well as I can.  My moodiness and impatience have made this quite a challenge, but it's a way of life that makes so much sense to me that it's worth the struggle.  A lapse of the sort that I committed this past weekend is a violent one, in that I can see the two sides of my self at war--  The moral side that wants to live with right thought, right action, and right speech; and the other, perverse side that wants something badly and thinks of nothing but how to get it.  In this instance, craving won hands down and didn't give a flying fuck that morality was left bruised on the mat.

So I told my fabrication, and was given much sympathy along with a green light for the time off I'd requested. The butterflies that had taken over my stomach through last week's road trip began fluttering back, along with a few nasty, dark-winged moths and other creepy crawlies that were obviously not mere excitement.

When I got in the car the next day to head to the airport, The White Stripes' Get Behind Me Satan was still in the cd player from the road trip.  The song that came up this time was not as nifty a coincidence as on the day I left for Memphis.  This time I was hit in the face with "Red Rain" and Jack's refrain of If there is a lie, then there is a liar too / And if there is a sin, then there is a sinner too... 

The irony doesn't end there.  Jack White's a born'n'bred Catholic who reportedly almost attended seminary school to become a priest, though he's apparently since developed a less rigid spirituality.  While it's possible that he'd likely have become a hard smoking, hard drinking priest of the Scotch/Irish variety, I get the impression that he's also intensely moral and committed to his own code of truth.  And I'd lied in order to fly to this man's base of operations and watch him make music.  

By the time I met my compatriots in Nashville the moths from my gut were practically crawling up my throat, but the junkie in me squashed them down.  It was too exciting to meet these people, and the event we'd come to attend was just too intensely amazing.  After the first song, Jack greeted the audience with a hearty "Welcome to my house".  I feel a pang thinking of it now--  Did I deserve to be there?

I'm a prick when I sin, and I know I can't win

There is no sin in Buddhism, only the discipline of the Eightfold Path and the much misunderstood concept of karma.  Most folks think of karma as the old cliché of "what comes around, goes around."  It's actually more direct than that.  Our intentions and resulting acts set chain reactions in motion and can reinforce habitual behaviors.  Sometimes shit just happens, but most often our choices create the atmosphere in which we live.  One of the best explanations of this comes from, of all places, The Huffington Post:

...the analogy of a game of billiards can be a useful way to describe the process of karma --- the table is set up, you hit the ball, it in turn hits other balls, moves the configuration on the table around, and then sets you up for your next shot. After that, maybe another person takes a turn and moves the balls around and then it's your turn again. Just as in the analogy of a billiard game, our thoughts and actions ripple outward, collide with others' thoughts and actions and generate consequences. These consequences create the setting in which we initiate our next set of thoughts and actions. 
  
When our choices are consistently unskillful due to self-centered motivations, we're just setting ourselves up for a fall.  Yet we can always make a more skillful karmic decision to act from positive intentions, and stop ourselves from making negative choices into habit.  I'd like to think that the drive to meet and connect with people I'd only previously known on-line was a benevolent enough intent to counteract the raging desire to just see Jack again.  But for all I know, that's just the junkie validating its behavior.

The question at this point is where things go from here.  I could confess to the boss, but I won't.  Craving gave me the guts for commission of this lapse, but I know that I'm not brave enough for the consequences of admission.  My best hope is that confession to the anonymous intarwebs will serve as a springboard out of the sea of cowards and back onto a truer path.



Edited 2/17/2011: I've just re-read this and decided that the final paragraph is bogus. I don't know what I was trying to say there. It reads more like a lame attempt at clever justification than a conclusion. And so it's struck out.

DC to Memphis Road Trip: Day 6, Hustling and cussing

Nashville seems to sit on the dividing line between the polite west and the obnoxious east.  I noticed a similar phenomenon on my cross-country road trip years ago-- West of this indistinct line, people automatically move into the right lane after they pass, or at least shift over immediately when a faster car comes up behind them.  It's just what people do, and you pick up on it quickly and join right on in.  Driving is a pleasure in that part of the U.S..  In the east, though, all bets are off and people park themselves in the left lane and cruise along oblivious to what's behind or around them.  So the last few hundred miles of this road trip were not only anti-climactic, they were annoying.  I ended up doing a whole lotta right-lane passing today, and even more of this...