I remember the person I used to be. I remember him very very well, and I am proud of him and also of who I am now. Genuinely proud, with love and kindness and compassion, and with sadness. And when I play this song, it feels very much that both that person I used to be and the person I am now are experiencing it, simultaneously. I sway from the pain and sadness I felt in my heart at the time to the compassion and love I feel in my heart now, and its all for the same person, for me. And for the first time in ever my life, I look back at that person with love, with pride, with appreciation, because he never gave up. He held himself with his values, his courage, and his own arms, when he would drift off for showers that lasted 15, 20, 30 minutes resting his chin on his arms as the melancholy leaked out of his pores. He faced crippling, life long depression and made a life of service for himself. This would be what he would be to the world, pushing forward in every way he could, always pushing.
The days would be sad, one after another. Wrapped up in so many constricting beliefs, not knowing who he had to be in order to not be sad but often sure the best was to try to not be himself. And each day was a heavy step in the mud, but I always moved. Always moved forward. My friend Jeff observed that no matter what we face individually or collectively, the choice to a better outcome, a healthier outcome, was to always choose to move. Always be in motion, in some way, towards something. In looking back it is what definitely saved me, moving. Moving for me, even when it felt like it wasn't for me or if there was so little for me. And I am so proud of myself, of that person, for always choosing to move. Sometimes, most times, it felt like 5 steps forward, 4.5 steps back.
One of the songs I listened to for years that in times both gave voice to the sadness and simultaneously gave me comfort was (is?) "Dear Lord", a composition John Coltrane wrote in 1965 and performed with his famous quartet. The song and performance convey melancholy but strength, a longing but a reaching to grasp, a feeling of surrender and complete faith in that surrender. In listening to this song I felt accompanied in sadness but in company. Sometimes it was unbearable, and sometimes I played it on repeat over and over.
I think of this song paired with the painting "The Creation" by Aaron Douglas. I've shared before that if I were forced to prove the existence of God (which I do not believe possible) I would just say "John Coltrane", for the power of his music to personally transcend my ability to articulate how it impacts me leans heavily into "spiritual experience from on high". Aaron Douglas is also one of my favorite painters, and I literally had to catch my breath when I saw this painting in person at The Met last year. I was stunned. And then "Dear Lord" starts playing in my head.
But as I've said it isn't just a reminder of who I was, or a time in my life. It still represents a sensitivity and experience of my heart at its most authentic and honest and vulnerable. While it was a form of company then, today it is a more than that, as I am more than that. I can see I felt it deeply, and I see that I was someone who was always feeling deeply, and I want to reach back and tell that version of me how amazing it was that I was a deeply feeling person. And to tell that version of me that I have slowly learned how to care for that deeply feeling person, and to be proud of the capabilities of my heart to grow and recieve and give love.
This song makes me proud of me, and who I have always been. It is a gift in this world to experience such beauty and to be touched by it. I could not be more fortunate.
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Happy Birthday John Coltrane. September 23, 1926 - July 17, 1967


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