Relief and Ground

There are times when I sit back and observe my 6 year old at play with his friends -- those simple games, those minor squabbles, those negotiations and reconciliations, those squeals of delight, those shrieks of glee.

Children don't need a reason to be happy: they just are. If there are times when they are not happy, then it is because of some reason -- something that did not go their way. And when that has passed, they are happy again. Happiness is their default natural state. It is what they return to every time, all the time. They don't go around seeking happiness; it is already there. It is where they live. We adults refer to childhood as a time of innocence. The loss of innocence comes with the discovery that that is not how life is.

We adults need reasons to be happy. We are constantly seeking happiness (as though something we do can bring it to us, or someone we know can gift it to us). But not finding it, most of the time. If there are times when we are happy, then that is because of some reason -- something that did indeed go our way! And when that has passed, we're unhappy, again. Unhappiness does not always mean sadness or misery, but includes a variety of different feelings, emotions, moods, and states of mind. However, all of these have one thing in common: they cannot be described as happiness. As adults, our unhappiness is our natural state. It is what we return to every time, all the time. It is already there, always with us. It is where we live. We may indulge ourselves in the pleasures of life, we may eke instant gratification from the things money can buy, we may celebrate momentous or memorable occasions, we may revel in the joy of achievements or victories, and at times we may even derive satisfaction from our overall state of being. But we are seldom happy the way children are -- spontaneously and unconditionally. We look for causation through, or at least correlation with, various externalities: places, activities, things, people ...

Those of us blessed with happy children find it soothing to watch them be happy ... and to sometimes even plunge into their moment, to vicariously splash around in that pool of pure natural happiness, letting their waves of joy wash over us, letting some of that clean, wholesome goodness rub off on us like the mud on their sleeves.

Prayer for the Man from Modena

Ave Maria
Gratia plena
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Tui, Jesus

Sancta Maria
Mater Dei
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae
Amen.

R.I.P. Luciano Pavarotti

Three Songs I Sang In My Head Over Last Weekend

HOMEWARD BOUND - Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel

I'm sittin' in the railway station (in my case - airport: 6 of them in less than 48 hours)
Got a ticket for my destination
On a tour of one night stands (didn't have any of these, sorry to disappoint)
My suitcase and guitar in hand (didn't pick up the Gibson SJ200 Custom Vine I was drooling over at the web-site, after all)
And every stop is neatly planned
For a poet and a one man band (this is applicable)

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my musics playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Everyday's an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines
And each town looks the same to me
The movies and the factories
And every stranger's face I see
Reminds me that I long to be

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my musics playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Tonight I'll sing my songs again
I'll play the game and pretend
But all my words come back to me
In shades of mediocrity
Like emptiness in harmony
I need someone to comfort me

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my musics playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Silently for me

HOME FIRE - Louis Armstrong (original?)

Pardon the smile on my face my friend
Dreamin' of reachin' my journeys end
I'm headin' straight for my hearts desire
Gee, it's good to know I'm near the home fire

All of the folks that I love are there
I got a date with my favourite chair
With every step every hope grows higher
Didn't know how much I missed the home fire

The noises, the TV, the rusty old pipes
The cat always teasin' my dog
The neighbours, the quarrels, the screaming of kids
For the first time in years I'll sleep like a log

Heaven is waiting for me, my friend
Seven or eight dreams around the bend
And if you're ever in town inquire
We'll be glad to have you share the home fire

BREATHE (Reprise) - Pink Floyd

Home, home again.
I like to be here when I can.
When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire.

Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.

... Never Having To Say You're Sorry

On my Delta Airlines flight from San Francisco to Atlanta this morning they were playing the movie 'Love Story' - based on the book by Erich Segal, with Ryan O'Neal and Ali MacGraw (not sure if there are other movies since then with that name). Guess it was because it was Valentine's Day.

It brought back so many old memories - the visuals, the song, the piano work. It took me back several years - I saw the movie with Dad in a theatre downtown (which probably doesn't exist now). I can't recall where Mom was that afternoon. I remember the last shot with Ryan O'Neal (I think his name was Oliver) sitting on the stands of the hockey stadium with snow all around, and how when they first meet they had a argument which Ali MacGraw (I think her name was Jennifer) ended with something like ".... and I am not going to have coffee with you" to which he said "but I never asked you for coffee ..." and that's how it all started for them.

As I grew older I found the song maudlin, the story a tear-jerker which at times I even called pathetic, and used to make fun of it. Today however, far from home and far from my family ... tears just flowed and I couldn't stop them. I thought of everybody I loved and everbody who loved me, but most of all my Dad, who passed away about 20 years ago and with whom I would give anything to have a long conversation now. Especially about everything he would want to be sorry for, as would I for my misgivings.

I didn't see the whole movie - just the beginning and the end. I didn't buy the headphones they were selling on board and didn't have any of my own. I took a short nap in between, and when I woke up, she was dead and he was getting out of the hospital and his father was telling him how sorry he was, and Oliver utters the famous line that Jennifer had once said to him (I lip-read it) "Love is ... never having to say you're sorry". I reached for my handkerchief and the nice middle-aged lady sitting next to me looked at me, surprised. Yes, ma'am ... real men do cry.

Happy Valentine's Day!

The 'Why' Chromosome

With some reluctance, and after several requests over the last few weeks, I let my 5 year old son watch me shave this morning. I'm sure this experience is different for every father and son, as unique as our individual DNA imprint. However, all such experiences of all fathers and sons (especially fathers who were curious sons once) will most likely have one element in common -this is that one bonding moment between father and son that has always been, and will always be, very very special, something that only another who has been through can understand. It's that feeling of being a man (not celebrated as much these days - certainly not the way women celebrate the feeling of being a woman), and more so, a man with a son who wants to be like him (in at least one department - shaving!) or, seen from the son's side, a wannabe man with a father he wants to be like (in at least one department - shaving!)

He was full of questions about shaving today, as he always is, about everything. Why gel was different from foam. Why I had both. Why I picked the gel today. Why I don't wear a mustache or beard. Why I didn't shave against the grain (of course, he didn't quite articulate this question as it appears here). Why my razor had two blades. Why it didn't hurt. Why I used after-shave. And of course, the big question - Why boys got facial hair as they grew older and girls didn't.

His continuous barrage of questions (some really tough ones which have me groping around for suitable responses) can be quite trying at times, but I have discovered I have learnt much from him. Every time he asks me a question and I turn around and look at his face, I am struck by his sense of wonder. By his ability to ask questions freely and uninhibitedly. The combination of curiosity, awe and innocence in his eyes. The anticipation and excitement of future experience. And the impatience to get there. Those are my moments of truth. Moments when I realise that questions have stopped popping up in my mind, and even those that do, I have stopped asking. Just as I've stopped looking to the future with excited eyes.

Thanks, son, for helping me re-learn the ability to question, and to feel excited about what is yet to come.

Ode to Contemplation

As a hollow vacant vessel I echo every whisper, every rustle
As a clear still pond I reflect every hue, bob with every ripple

Clear, still, empty
Full of the vast nothing, in plenty
My mind opens to sound and sight

The darkness of the night
Brings out the faintest light

Realization doesn’t need much
By way of understanding as such
Just an instantaneous impression
Leads to spontaneous comprehension

The wondering, the wandering
Oh! the joys of pondering!

Universal Truths

Last month I ordered some music CDs from a web-site. Nothing unusual or high-tech about that - these days one can do those things as a part of regular life, without being astonished at where we've reached in the pursuit of development and happiness as the 'civilised world' understands it. But there was something quite amazing about this particular instance, when I reflected a bit about it this morning.

The web-site I ordered from (www.musicabona.com) is an e-commerce extension of a music shop based in Prague in the Czech republic, and boasts a fine collection of Czech and Moravian folk music, among other genres. One of the CDs I got, is called "Ensemble Ambrosius - The Zappa Album", recorded by a Finnish band in Helsinki as a tribute to Frank Zappa. The instruments used are from the Baroque period (e.g., harpsichord, archlute, dulcimer, etc., some of which might be nearing extinction, in this techno age) and the content is all original Zappa compositions.

And this is what I was struck by while listening to it in my car this morning...

Here's a music aficionado from Mumbai, India who ordered from a Czech web-site, a recording of music originally composed by an irreverent, rebellious, genre-defying Californian, arranged for and played on archaic instruments by a bunch of young Finnish fans of his from Helsinki. Frankly, I was zapped, when I thought about it that way.

For those of my friends who are not familiar with Frank Zappa ... he's the sort of chap who'd define a composer as "... a guy who goes around forcing his will on unsuspecting air molecules, often with the assistance of unsuspecting musicians." May his soul rest in peace.

Some truths are truly universal. Music is one of them.