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

From her blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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I also see this in the people I work with. I see that sometimes they don’t even realize that the patterns of misery they are caught have gradually let go in subtle ways, and when I ask after a few sessions about these old ways of being, it’s almost as if they’re surprised I’m asking. Someone who has not been able to sleep for years, for example, when I ask how they slept recently says, “pretty good,” not with any kind of amazement, but more like a matter of course. Whey wouldn’t they sleep well? It’s as if they don’t quite remember the angst of insomnia. Remarkable.

As a special edition of the Bliss and Drumming podcast, Clementine reads this piece, recently published at https://memoirmag.com/nonfiction/laguna-main-by-clementine-moss/.

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Sharona bleats from a nearby radio and I close my eyes and imagine Sharona, object of adoration. I imagine Jim Morrison, on a beach with a guitar, writing about his LA woman. I love the Doors. I move to ask if Becky likes the Doors, but her back stops the words from forming, glossy and solid and resolute in the bright sun. It seems that every back, every face these days locks me out. The words stay in my throat. Forget it. I lean back on sinking elbows and close my eyes against the glare.

Jim Morrison lolls on the beach in my mind, and I let go of the day and follow him down to this other world. Do women get to be so free, lounging, writing, owning their dreams? Who will write of me?

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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I want to say that opening oneself to be vulnerable feels like flying. First you have to push yourself out of the plane, out of the open door through the barrier of fear: fat and sappy and dumb and weak. But once you get over the ledge, once you think, you know what? Hanging out in this loud annoying metal contraption of a mind… or a plane… is over for me. I can’t take it any more! Then, you realize there is no plane. When we can’t take it any more and we throw ourselves overboard into the vast sky of the heart, I gotta tell you, it’s truly like flying. And once you’re out, you really can’t get back in the same way.

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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A funny thing happened during a recent weekends of shows. An unease settled on me, and I felt myself raw and overly sensitive to the slights of others. Maybe it had to do with the heat and humidity of the Midwest weather, or maybe I’ve just been alone too much for a while and the shock of socializing was jarring.

Whatever the reasons, I started to fixate a little too much on the typical annoyances of putting on a show. Sub-par backline equipment. The basement dressing room, sweaty and smelling as if a gas generator was on high pumping fumes through the rooms. Maybe it was knowing that each show would be a struggle on foreign gear, since I had flown to the shows instead of driving my own drums. Maybe it was the rude customer at the rental car place, or the loud 10-year olds and even louder mother behind me on the flight, or the stopped traffic from St. Louis to Illinois.

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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I, too, realized, as I sat on my little cushion with the dog snoring nearby, that I had nothing better to do than listen. I moved into the song, getting closer and closer, until I was inside of it, watching and listening in a way that was almost like being in the center of a symphony, with all its voices and colors and crescendos. This was a symphony not unlike one I attended once with dazzling modern sounds: whistles and metallic patterns and sirens. The sound settled into my awareness until it was not sound, and instead spread out like a ribbon, a wave, that carried me further and further into a feeling of openness. Judgment or preference would rise and fall, and each time this happened and released, I fell further into expanded being.

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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After a while the park opens out into a long drive through the prairie. There is 2% of wild prairie left in the US and this is most of it. The sky is grey and the clouds low, and there is a long wooden walkway leading into the grass. We slip and slide on the ice out and out and out, until we stand with the land undulating around us like we’re standing on top of an ocean. The sky seals up the edges of our sight. I hear only the sound of my heart, the breeze on my cheek, trickle of water and the joy of small birds. There is no hum of humanity, no airplane or car noise. I think of Laura Ingalls Wilder, who is from a town nearby, and imagine for a second that I too am living in this world of prairie. A thought comes through about how much writing I would get done if I lived here, but I can’t hold on to that imaginary scenario long . I have a sense of the wind coming from the edges and I am aware only of expanse of mind, expanse of sky, the opening in my chest that seems to have become porous. For a moment, I am the sky, the plains, a stalk of wheat that feels itself blown through with the wind of time.

It occurs to me just how different we are now, and what is gone. I don’t forget that living in a cabin in a prairie was probably terrifying much of the time, with the fear of starvation and weather and illness and other people. But how often does this pure connection happen for us now, and how much of the time was spent in this awareness then? What was it like to live in this reality, to live from this place of oneness with sky and earth? Did fear make room for this space? Where do we find this space now?

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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I have a fantasy of monastery life. The 10-day silent meditation retreats I participate in are exquisite, and for so long, when I’m tired and feeling lost, I imagine living at a retreat like Thomas Keating, meditating and writing until the end of days. That will always be a dream. But now, I see how much more fruitful this lovely chaos seems to be for me right now. Maybe the drums are how I find the clear-light, the silence of consciousness. Maybe being a rock drummer is the Clementine version of monastic life. I certainly seem to be built for movement, and exertion, with a gift of stamina that may be lost in a monastery.

It’s with challenge that we really transform, and what a challenging career and a way to spend my time have I chosen. I see how my music career IS my practice, as much as my counseling and meditation and writing and driving and all the other ways I spend the moments of this life. My practice is to let go of attachment to identity, attachment to concepts, and to access the heart, to live from the heart, to live in the heart. Moment to moment, present and in truth.

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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The week in Costa Rica led up to my birthday. The travel back involved many legs and different planes, and I spent the day curled up on the couch sleeping it all away. I felt the pull to do something special, but sleeping seemed to be what was called for on this birthday. I was alone, the old man and the pug were out of town, and I let go of offers of fun knowing that I may need a recovery day after travel. Seems I was right.

Off and on during the day, big regrets of not making the most of the day rose up, but I let those go. Birthday, shmirthday. Every day is celebration. I had been feted at the previous show. A river of well wishes waited for me on the phone and computer. I closed my eyes and drifted into the gratitude of the love in my life.

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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As she told me this, I flashed on remembering when I started learning drumming. When I started playing drums, I had that freedom of feeling that everything was possible. I had no intention of being a professional musician, so learning drums was just interesting. It just opened up my mind to the possibility of doing something that I had never even considered. I didn’t have any blocks of thinking that it could be difficult. I just went into it with joy, and everything seemed to blossom.

I certainly want to practice more. What kind of player would I be if I got it together and sat down every day for two hours? Well, I’ll keep at this intent and meanwhile, I open to the joy of playing whenever do I make it to the kit. I see how judgment about practicing has blocked the desire to practice, and how often I keep myself from drums because of this judgment. I see how some days, sitting for 10 minutes feels excruciating, as all judgment, of my process and ability, blocks all the joy.

From the blog http://www.blissanddrumming.com, Clementine reads this piece.

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The ideas of popular culture aren’t the way real people live their lives. I think we’re all pretty aware of that, and becoming more aware of it daily. Our stereotypes dissolve when we interact, when we open our hearts and see into everyone’s personal struggles to belong. Media supports stereotypes, this is the lesson we’re all learning. Media is yet another layer to a reality that is not a reflection, but a distortion to what the truth is. When we take control of how we see reality, the truth can be dazzling. Turn off all media for a few days, take a lot of walks and interact with some strangers, and see for yourself.