Dearest ones,
I thought you might need this. It made me cry tears that were looking for an outlet to come up…and out and I know I’m not alone in that struggle.
Music heals. So does love, and I’m send both to all of you. This is my way of reaching over 110 countries around the globe while still practicing my social distancing.
Stay well, I’m thinking of you every day.
Carry on,
xox
I think this is one of the most moving things I’ve seen in a long time. I’ve always believed that musical notes hold their own energy. They go from ink on a piece of paper to an instrument that translates them into sound. Sound that reverberates and rearranges every molecule they touch. The air, animals,nature, our cells—think about it—it can bring us to tears. Watch what they do to the ice around him as he plays.
Enjoy your weekend.
xox
At the request of Greenpeace, award-winning Italian composer Ludovico Einaudi created an original masterwork titled “Elegy for the Arctic.” He performed the piece while floating on a platform in the Arctic Ocean, with the towering Wahlenbergbreen Glacier (in Svalbard, Norway) slowly melting in the background.
In this SuperSoul Short, Einaudi’s soul-stirring composition provides a somber soundtrack for a majestic yet fragile ecosystem in crisis.
Read more: http://www.oprah.com/own-super-soul-sunday/elegy-for-the-arctic#ixzz5iH7oCAjV
I heard this today and it gutted me. And in the same moment lifted me up—if that’s possible?
It’s a song from my youth. To me it was always about disappointment. About battling unseen forces—real or imagined. About the uncertainty of life.
And it’s right.
In this time of emotional upheaval words fall short, but music?
If, like me, this makes you cry, I say get it out—let the tears flow.
Then… let it take you where the heart wants to go.
To all of you, my tender-hearted tribe,
I wish us all love & peace.
xox
The Wind
I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul
.
Where I’ll end up, well I think only God really knows
.
I’ve sat upon the setting sun…
But never, never, never, never
I never wanted water once…
No never, never, never
.
I listen to my words but they fall far below
.
I let my music take me where my heart wants to go
I swam upon the Devil’s lake…
But never, never, never, never
I’ll never make the same mistake…
No – never, never, never
Written by Cat Stevens, Yusuf Islam • Copyright © BMG Rights Management US, LLC
Hi Guys,
I believe in stress. I just do. I try not to, but when I’m wearing my shoulders as earrings, well, it’s pretty hard to deny.
I also believe in the healing power of music. It can really send me. I’m ashamed to admit that the minute I hear Enya at the spa—I start drooling the ugly drool.
Finally, I believe in science. Neuroscience in particular although I don’t like to play favorites.
I read about this song the other day and I just had to share it.
As aside: Yesterday, I played it while I got dressed. Besides being warned off of operating heavy machinery while you listen, I advise that you stay away from black liquid eyeliner as well. Anyhow, I noticed my dog, Ruby, standing frozen on the step, next to the speaker, eyes closed—mezmerized. I watched her for a long time. She stood in a trance until I reached for my phone to video her reaction, then, refreshed and renewed she jumped up on the bed and play-killed her stuffed bunny. Just sayin’, it seems to work for animals too.
Here’s the sciencey part: Neuroscientists say they’ve discovered the most relaxing song. “Weightless.”
Their top pick reduces anxiety by 65% in study participants!
I’ve downloaded “Weightless” from iTunes, but you can find a free 10-hr version in the article here:
http://www.inc.com/melanie-curtin/neuroscience-says-listening-to-this-one-song-reduces-anxiety-by-up-to-65-percent.html
Anyhow, since the world seems to be wound a little tight these days I thought this might help. Let me know what you think.
Enjoy a relaxing, stress-free weekend!
Carry on,
xox
Music heals. That I know for sure.
In case you haven’t seen this in your country yet it’s making the rounds here in the US, where healing is sorely needed.
Do yourself a favor and take listen—I dare you not to be moved.
Love,
xoxJB
A piano has 88 keys. Each one is different. But what if they were all the same? Be an original — but play well with others.
That’s all.
Carry on,
xox
How lucky are we?
We all knew he wasn’t from HERE. Someone so otherworldly. Someone so fearlessly himself.
So maybe it was for that very reason that it never occurred to me that he could leave us.
Say what you will, even if you’ve never listened to a note of his music (which would seem virtually impossible and make you someone I’m not sure I could be friends with), you were aware of the man.
Because he was SO different.
An alien among us, so much so that he was the obvious choice for the lead in the 1976 film, “The Man Who Fell To Earth”.
But what made David Bowie, David Bowie?
I was crazy lucky to be in Chicago last year at the same time as the exhibition of his extraordinary life, “David Bowie is”.
So of course, nothing could keep me away.
It (the David Bowie-ness of David Bowie), started at the very beginning as this collection showed, giving us a peek into his private hand-written notes, diary entries and song lyrics. Among the treasures were many examples of his drawings for album cover art, stage mock-ups which he designed, and a remarkable collection of outrageously unique stage costumes (including early Alexander McQueen), photographs, and other rare possessions from the David Bowie Archives.
In other words, if Bowie was an alien—THIS was his mothership.
I stayed too long, (Rebel, Rebel) in the very last room, even as the museum people were trying to shoo me along to give the throngs of other Bowie-ites a chance to get a view. I was busy crying big, sloppy tears as I stood mesmerized by the multi-media presentation of floor-to-ceiling video tiles of concert footage and music (for which I was emotionally unprepared), which had me feeling as if I were onstage with him at Wembley Stadium.
It was without-a-doubt the best thing I’ve EVER experienced—in a museum.
All that stuff was just evidence of the obvious.
This guy knew who he was and what he came here to do VERY early on in his life and his focus and determination to be WHO HE REALLY WAS, no matter how strange and shocking that looked or sounded—separated him from the rest of us.
I was in high school in L.A. when that film came out and that’s also when I first heard his music at Martha Johnston’s house, (The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars… about a bisexual alien rock superstar—duh), and consequently, when I first snuck out to see him in concert.
It was a revelation. And while many aspects of it went over my Catholic-schooled, teenage head—still, it marked me.
He wasn’t like us. Was he a man or a woman? Both? Neither?
Shit! When I think about how ahead of the crowd he was with his androgyny and glam rock it blows my mind. I figure at least a decade.
And I suppose in the big picture none of that really matters except it kinda does because he influenced an entire generation of musicians; Duran Duran, Madonna, Lady Gaga to name a few; and in doing so—he influenced all of us.
They were all, with the exception of Gaga, part of the soundtrack of MY youth.
So, I think that’s what he did for all of us. What David Bowie is, as the title of the exhibit leaves blank for us to answer, is someone who gives us permission to be unique…maybe even a little bit odd. Someone who gives us permission—make that encourages us to:
To fly our freak flags. It may inspire others to do the same.
To stray away from the herd.
To control all aspects of our image.
To be different than the rest.
To have the vision of something shocking and untested.
To be forever curious, always moving forward.
To be our courageous selves, whatever that may look like—public opinion be damned.
And not to let any grass grow under our feet. To become a Master of Reinvention just as he’d done through the years.
We may never be as batshit odd/brilliantly genius as David Bowie. He set the bar too high.
But we can try.
I aspire to be like him. Receiving inspiration and creating until the end, but we may all be a little less brave without him around…for a while.
Annie Lennox wrote something that really resonated with me on her Facebook page today maybe it will with you too:
“Like a gazillion other people, I feel stunned by the news that David Bowie has departed this earth.
At the loss of someone who has impacted and influenced your life, you can hardly begin to measure the shape of what’s left behind.
Our personal and collective inner landscape has shifted and we’re trying to come to terms with it.
No one exists forever and it seems our elegant gentleman was well aware that his last mortal chapter was about to reach its conclusion.
“Blackstar” was his parting gift.
Provocative and nightmarishly “otherworldly”… we are jolted towards the twilight realms of epileptic seizures and voodoo scarecrows.
The bejewelled remains of Major Tom lie dormant in a dust coated space suit…
It leaves me breathless.
You must see it to believe it…
He knew…
He could see through it all.”
Love you, carry on,
xox
(Rare photo of my Muse)
Prayer To The Muse
Give the act to me.
Purged of hope and ego,
Fix your attention on the soul.
Act and do for me.”
Excerpt From: Steven Pressfield & Shawn Coyne. “The War of Art.” Visionary Press, 2012.
The Muse and I were sitting around the other day chatting, as we do. She with an air of gin, tonic and attitude; and me, always in awe of her beauty and general badassery.
I was questioning her about all aspects of the writing process, publishing in particular. She is VERY knowledgable.
She is the Muse, after all.
As the conversation zig and zagged over the various ways to get published, she shook her head. “There’s no excuse these days, for an author not to get their work out in the world to be read.”
“So all of us, the writers of the world, together with our Muses, we just write what we love, and send it, like our precious baby, out into the world?” I asked.
“What intention should we give it as we send it on its way? To touch people? To help people? To make money? To be a best seller?”
I couldn’t tell by the way she slowly turned to face me, with a kind of half smirk, whether her answer was going to be kind, or I was gonna get a smack down.
She started to laugh.
The Muse has a laugh like the throaty purr of a Maserati. Deep and sexy.
I’m guessing it’s the result of age, too many late nights, strong drinks and cigarettes; but if she asks – you didn’t hear that from me.
“I only write best sellers, my darling” she purred with her usual lack of humility.
“That’s all I’m capable of. I only paint masterpieces. I only write musical compositions that bring grown men to tears. It’s all I know how to do.”
Now I was shaking my head, but she continued.
“As the Muse, I am Divine Inspiration at the highest level, sending my masterpiece through you, the vessel.”
Now I was leaning in; listening intently, she could sense my interest, so she took a long drag on her cigarette to keep me in suspense.
“I’m incapable of writing a boring book or a piece of shit movie.”
She threw her head back, smoke billowing from her nostrils.
“That’s YOUR contribution.” She was laughing again.
“The clearer the vessel, the clearer the translation of my work. If you start to question it, or edit it, or doubt it, well, darling, you’re being an idiot.”
I laughed.
“If you can’t recognize a masterpiece when you see it or read it, or you somehow think you can do it better,” she shifted in her chair, “you’ll compromise the material.
It will become mediocre….or suck altogether.”
That was a big AhHa for me.
What she was saying was this: that no matter what your talent, no matter what ideas you have, we are ALL, every one of us, capable of greatness; it’s wholly dependent on the clarity of our connection to the Muse. No one is more talented, they are just better connected.
Steve Jobs, I’m going to venture to guess, kept his nose out of her business.
He just let it flow.
I get it. I get it!
“Our relationship is very complicated, my darling. Everyday I’m taking a chance that you will trust me enough to write my words the way I say them or paint my vision, using the colors I choose. I hear your prayer and I get ready to work. All you have to do is trust and stay clear of fear, doubt, and judgement.”
“Oh is THAT all.” I replied, sarcastically.
“My job as the Muse is to pick the correct vessel.”
She got to her feet for emphasis, turned and winked.
“It is how all the great works of humanity; of architecture, and the arts have been created. I believe it to be a good system.”
So do I.
I’d be an idiot to disagree with the Muse.
Xox
(Photo of Picasso and his Muse. “THE MUSE AND THE MASTER”)
At dinner Monday night, the conversation, fueled by my favorite Italian wine, one of my all time favorite couples, candlelight and a table on the patio, led in its meandering yet revealing way, to talk of Resistance.
You all know how I LOVE that subject.
I’m convinced that the the more I can shine a light on that creative cockroach, sending him back into the shadows, the better off the world will be.
The food was epically delicious; like accidental drooling level good, yet it was eclipsed by the conversation because I got to discuss Resistance with someone who’s creative genius I admire beyond words.
He paints and he is also a musical wonder.
He writes, plays multiple instruments, and is a highly sought after producer.
But beyond that, he is disarming, present, engaging and humble as hell, which makes me LOVE him and want to put him in my pocket for safe keeping.
We have a similar relationship with the Muse, and obviously his channel is clear.
He keeps on delivering great work from her, year after year.
Still, he has his struggles with the beast, Resistance – he was just unaware of its name.
If you can’t name your enemy, how can you defeat it?
So now you have it, my friend.
Remember, this isn’t just for artists and writers, we are ALL creating SOMETHING, and Resistance is an equal opportunity saboteur.
Here are a few things we touched on:
*RESISTANCE IS INSIDIOUS
“Resistance will tell you anything to keep you from doing your work. It will perjure, fabricate, falsify; seduce, bully, cajole. Resistance is protean. It will assume any form, if that’s what it takes to deceive you. It will reason with you like a lawyer or jam a nine-millimeter in your face like a stickup man. Resistance has no conscience. It will pledge anything to get a deal, then double-cross you as soon as your back is turned.
If you take Resistance at its word, you deserve everything you get. Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.”
That always lying and full of shit part; I’ve dated that guy.
All kidding aside, the implications of this seem daunting.
The level of commitment and fight, not to mention the sheer tonnage of alcohol and chocolate it will take to overcome; well, pick your poison and come sit by me, we have some serious strategy to employ.
This all makes me sick to my stomach because that fucker is in MY head.
It leads me to believe that it’s smarter than me, when it’s NOT. How could it be when it is using MY intellect – against me?
*RESISTANCE IS IMPLACABLE
Resistance is like the Alien or the Terminator or the shark in Jaws. It cannot be reasoned with. It understands nothing but power. It is an engine of destruction, programmed from the factory with one object only: to prevent us from doing our work. Resistance is implacable, intractable, indefatigable. Reduce it to a single cell and that cell will continue to attack.
This is Resistance’s nature. It’s all it knows.”
Resistance IS the Alien parasite that rides along with its host, fowling everything it encounters.
It’s an inside job; this ruining of our lives.
Much like the Alien/parasite, resistance doesn’t have the good sense to know it’s slowly and systematically killing its host.
Either that or it doesn’t care.
Both make me want to hurl, and then they make. me. angry.
Anger is good. It’s mobilizing. It short circuits victim hood
.
If Resistance lies within me, then, it is within my control.
Therein lies the Ah Ha.
MuuuuuHaaaaaaaa! (Diabolical laugh).
Control. Now you’re talkin’
If Resistance is the Alien inside, then I have no problem getting all Ripley on it.
“Get away from ME – you bitch!”
I’d love to hear your struggles with Resistance and the ways you’ve battled the Alien. Did you realize it was an inside job? Does that make you feel more empowered? Talk to me.
Your comments help the tribe.
Much love,
Xox
*All excerpts from Steven Pressfield & Shawn Coyne. “The War of Art.” (My bible)
*That is my hubs famous Thanksgiving turkey. It is a gift to our mouths every year.
We’ve all experienced it.
That special meal made from ordinary ingredients, that makes you sit back and……well let’s face it, I’ve teared up over zucchini blossoms stuffed with ricotta cheese, and a lukewarm glass of Chianti at a cafe in Tuscany.
There’s no reasonable explanation why the line of foodies forms around the block and you can’t fanagle a reservation for thirty days.
You can’t quite put your finger on why the bread is orgasmic or the pasta is to die for.
Your Grandmother, aunt Sadie or that fancy chef obviously have a secret invisible ingredient that they add all the way through the process.
Starting at chopping the garlic and ending with the perfect application of salt and pepper
With a purse of the lips, they blow a kiss, adding LOVE to everything they make.
We’ve all seen it.
Giant, shiny black, Grand Piano on stage. It is competently played by the pianist for the orchestra or band.
Then the featured performer takes to the keys and blows the roof off the joint.
Same piano, maybe even the same song, but played with such power, such passion, such….LOVE.
It may be invisible, but the difference…..is viseral.
We’ve all heard it.
The singer that steps forward for their solo and what comes out of their mouth is an aria that sends God a love note.
Their very essence transferred onto the notes of a song. Angelic tones sent from heaven and sung with LOVE.
There is no other possible explanation.
That’s what makes what you do special.
When you leave or infuse your essence, your gooey goodness, your divine deliciousness, your LOVE, into your speaking, your writing, your cooking, anything and everything you do each day,
you enhance the experience for everyone around you.
Then it will be reflected back.
It may be applause, great material success, or a simple compliment.
Even a garden can send that love back to it’s caretaker. We call it a green thumb. It’s really just LOVE reflected back.
What is that special something that carries YOUR love out into the world? Go ahead! Brag to me, I’d LOVE to hear about it!
xox
