Throw Down Your Heart

I am fairly sure you need to stop reading this and watch this documentary. I am struck by the beauty, the honesty, the honor in the way Bela Fleck reminds us how essential music is to our souls-- I think it is probably as necessary to our spirits as air is to our lungs, if not more so. I wrote in my last post about the importance of honoring one another and I think this is the most beautiful illustration of what such an honor looks like-- what can be more beautiful than seeking to draw out the musical heritage of an entire continent, returning an instrument to its rightful owners in order to truly learn how to make music.

It seems, sadly, that in our western culture, we loose sight of these really important, wordless true things. I wish music was a part of our lives as it seems to weave together the deep communal existence of these people. Oh, how much we have to learn.

This documentary struck me in many places, reminded me of many loves and dreams that I hold in my own heart. Music, in so many ways, has been the soil from which I have grown-- the melodies, the lyrics, the voices and sounds take me away from this life, move me into a different, deeper reality. I am learning this more and more, recognizing something in myself that is affected by music in unique and beautiful way. Music ties me to my heritage, reminds me of the reasons I love my family, leads me into deeper truth and beauty.

I love the way Fleck releases music from our civilized way of reducing it to consumable culture-- he returns us to its real reason: life. Where would we be without music? Very sad, I am fairly sure.

I have been finding myself dreaming a lot recently about spending some time outside of the United States. Specific thoughts on this account are still illusive, but, I am holding this desire upon a flat palm, looking around for the place from which it has come, seeking to be led forward wherever it might take me. There is something in me that gets pricked by watching how this musician enters a world wholly other than his own simply in order to fully understand the artform that clearly has taken up residence in the deep pools of his existence. His motivation seems only to be honor and growth and there is a bit of jealousy that gets piqued in me there.

I am jealous of these peoples who have such a strong sense of tradition, culture, and ritual that we have done so well to pave over here in the west. I am hungry for the rhythms and voices around the fires, between buckets of water. I love the way the music is never separated from the most basic existences of the people creating it. They don't compartmentalize-- they honor life as a whole thing. And for that I am jealous.

But you should watch this documentary for yourself and develop your own jealousies.