Bliss and Drumming: The Slow Enlightenment of the Hard Rock Drummer

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine. She also refers to this work: www.awakeningthetrueself.com

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I think people dislike driving because they focus too much on the destination and not as much on the meditative journey. I love how my mind seems to swing wide open as the landscape rolls by. I love watching the birds, the hawks and the little spinning birds, and this time I saw an eagle, in a nest at the top of a telephone pole. I love how, in motion, your stable life is up for examination, and I love looking at it from a distance. I guess people focus too much on driving as a way to arrive. When the focus is purely on the destination, I can see how the stress of anticipation makes for no fun. I’ll save pointing out the parallels to the way we live our lives. In this day and age, most people are becoming aware of how quickly life goes when all you can do is to stress out about the way it will end.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine. She also refers to this work: www.awakeningthetrueself.com

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We played the show, we loaded out, done. The band was scattered, so I went to the front of the venue, where I opened the door and a band was playing in another room.

They were a great band. The drummer was so groovy and they were playing songs that were beautiful and made everyone in the small venue move. The party was well under way when I stepped inside, and as will happen when I am in a room with a great drummer, the world fell away and here I was in my heart, again. I let it all go, the stresses, the drive, the moments of bliss on stage and the struggle, the fatigue, the regret of the habits, all of it dropped away and I started to look at people in the venue, dancing or laughing or walking by or checking IDs or carrying drinks, and I started to see each one of their true selves.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine. She also refers to this work: www.awakeningthetrueself.com

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I gaze at the water and its relation to the color wheel of sky and watch the peaceful swimmers in Aquatic Park. I remember my numb feet and the shock of cold when I spent some time believing I could be one of them, and still, I envy them. I feel in my shoulders what it must be like to be in the long meditative stroke of their pace. I turn a corner and the sun is the largest thing in view, hanging heavy over the bell curve of Chestnut Street, burning behind the marine layer and spreading a coral light across the screendoor of sky.

As I walk my mind drifts, and I come back from whatever thought has pulled me away to sound; again, there are crows. They fly overhead, their sound a fading alarm. I switch up on my attention and start to play with my hearing. My eyes follow the sidewalk as I go in order to listen intently to every layer of sound: the heavy whoosh of the tour bus, the whining of the engine and the sharp cry of the brakes, the conversation of teenagers rising and falling. I imagine I don’t speak their language, and try to hear the true sound of the words beyond meaning. I hear the rising and falling sigh of tires on the street beyond, the rustle of my clothing against my limbs in motion, the sound of the breeze in my hair, the small white-noise buzz in my ears, and still, in a level all to themselves, the crows.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine. She also refers to this work: www.awakeningthetrueself.com

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I know what it’s like to step back from a train of thought and just observe it, so that’s what I did. I saw that it was my attachment to this limitation of the kick pedal that was the problem, not the limitation itself. There are drummers out there who would never think to be affected by a new pedal, and so I brought that mindset into my reality. It will be fine. Like them, I can play on anything. I did my best to adjust the pedal and then I just fell into that neutral space beneath the thoughts and ego, and trusted that my foot would find its way to the requirements of the song when it came time to play the song.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine.

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This is what Goenka would call “the art of living.” It is not about arranging life so nothing will go wrong, since we are on a train that has stops and starts that are vastly unpredictable. The art of living depends on finding our true self, the awareness that watches the trip play out. When we see ourselves from this vantage point, we feel such a well of love and compassion for our egoic selves: our personalities, with all the thoughts and emotions. This is part of what helps us get through the difficulties, this compassion for ourselves. The more we learn to step back and watch our thoughts without reacting to them, the more we celebrate every moment of this journey. With every detour, we learn more about our resilience; we appreciate the joy and beauty that exists around us even as we struggle; and we recognize our eternal capacity for peace.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine.

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I don’t believe that it is our nature to constantly compete. This is my hippie worldview. In this society, it’s something we come to believe as truth due to the requirements of capitalism and militarism. I think “healthy competition” is a fabrication of society. Empathy is what sets humans apart from animals, so seeing competition in nature and drawing the conclusion that it is ingrained in us isn’t fair. I think we are born to cooperate, to use this natural empathy, and to want the best for everyone around us. I think it’s just some fairly new systems that humans have bought into that make us believe that’s just how it is.

That’s a big debate I know, and I imagine I will always lose this sort of argument, but I smilingly know I’m right.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine. She also refers to this work: www.awakeningthetrueself.com

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There is a place I go when I’m playing drums, on stage, with the monitor distorting the guitar line and lights streaking heat onto my eyelids. As decibels rage and as my body bends and powers and strikes, I drop into a place where time hangs in silence. Thoughts of moments past, thoughts of moments future, they drift through this silent place and try to catch me in their nets. Sometimes I can’t help but be brought up to the surface, to the noise and fracture and worry, and when that happens I’m dropped abruptly into the cacophony of the venue around me.

But more and more these days, when I play drums, I stay in that still, quiet place. Here, I live in the heart of the song, played by the song itself. Here, the song is effortless as a heartbeat. Every note rings out and living things are created: this song, this moment. I rest there, and Clementine falls away.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine.

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When I fall into the true self, that infinite stillness that I find in the center of my being, it is just that, infinite. I don’t have to be in meditation to experience it, sitting on my little bench, wrapped up the corner of my room with a singing bowl in front of me and my Buddhist monk pug noisily meditating beside me. All it takes to find that place is to remember to find it, all day long, driving in the car, walking down the street, sitting backstage, in the middle of a song, when I become a part of the song and no longer merely a player. It is as simple as remembering, and falling my awareness to the center of my heart.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine.

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I love a band. I love a small group of people forging their way through the landscape, experiencing their days together. I love that you can feel the intangible connection, and the mystery of that moment after everything has been loaded and the van door shuts and what happens then. Heading to the hotel and starting in on the recap, filling out and sharing the experience together in the way every band does. I love the instinctual protection that forms in a band, and the secret language that develops.

I have gotten to be in great bands in my life. With one of them, we lived in a car together and truly did forge our way across the landscape. I guess I learned in that band the limits of what can hold together and what breaks apart.

From the blog www.blissanddrumming.com, read by Clementine.

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There she is, a 20-something girl standing behind the bar at a diner on the corner of Broadway and Bleecker, playing Continental Rummy with Gus the Drunk and looking out into the still, snowy night. The diner is nondescript, and the pink light of a neon sign bathes the restaurant in rosy glow. For $2.50 on weekday mornings you get eggs and meat and toast and coffee. That’s what year it is, when breakfast cost $2.50 in New York City. The bar is open from 8:00am until 4:00am, although during the week if it is absolutely dead she gets to pack up at 2:00. On this night, there is a couple sitting at a table getting a late night snack, and at the bar, Gus and Jerry. Gus drinks brandy and milk to go easy on his ulcer. Jerry drinks coffee. He’ll switch to vodka down the road and the girl will discover why the coffee years are the good ones.