Me finding myself. And Van Morrison.

It happened again today. Searching for the meaning of existence via the Great God Google, I looked into the mirror of cyberspace and saw my own truth looking back at me.

Not surprisingly, I agreed with myself. Which, naturally, raises the question: "If what I'm searching for is what I already know, what the hell am I doing Googling?"

I'd been thinking about Tai Chi. Which got me thinking about Wu Chi. Which reminded me of a web site that had a reference to using "Wu" as a mantra – the sound of wind whistling through tree tops. Whoooooooo. Whoooooooo.

Which stimulated me to fire up Google and see if I could find the web site again. Which led to a page of results with only one item of real interest.

One of my Wu Project posts. So I ended up finding what I really was looking for: someone who fully agreed with me. Which, not surprisingly, turned out to be me.

Why don't I trust myself when it comes to the deep questions of life, those no one else can answer for me? I'm more than willing to follow the advice of someone who is expert in an area I'm ignorant about—like plumbing or car repair.

But each of us is our own authority when it comes to What's it all about? Even if we submit to someone else, that act of submission is under our control (I must give credit to a sex article in a women's magazine I recently thumbed through in a waiting room for that bit of insight).

So I'm telling myself to stand taller. As should you, if, like me, you find yourself looking for outside encouragement platform shoes for reassurance that your view of the cosmos is at least a smidgeon above ground level.

I'm never going to find anyone else who totally agrees with me about what it's all about. Or not about. My best shot at a boon philosophical companion is myself. And only then, if I don't get in the way of establishing a trust bond between myself and me.

None the less, I enjoy all of the others on the Road That Isn't Quite Where I Want To Go But is Darn Interesting Nonetheless.

Including the visitors to this here Church of the Churchless.

In a comment today Edward said:

Now drop what you're doing, find the song "Tupelo Honey" by Van Morrison and listen to it like it was your first birthday card. There will be a part of you, big or small, loud or quiet, that says, "Yes, this is true." Not a formal truth, not a provable theorem - just blood warmingly true.

Good advice. You can watch here. Or below. And read the lyrics here. Yes, that's truly true truth. It's got to be. I just said it was.

Comments

[Robert Paul Howard]

Dear Brian,

Thank you for providing a copy of these lyrics. Although the terminals here at my Library do not permit my hearing the singing of this song (nor am I likely to find such within my usual frame of experience), your action permits me to - at least - see what is the content of their words. I appreciate your action. (On the inference that you actually exist.)

Robert Paul Howard

[Edward]

I am happy to ruin the joke by explaining the punchline.

The truth I was referring to is the response any of us has when we listen to a song, any song, with an open heart. Any work of art will do, really. Effective communication has a balance of form and content. The Morrison song is a very simple construction, with a very complicated pay-load.

Approached intellectually, music is math, and has a predictable resonance with human emotion. That is why it is so effective in advertising. And the form is supported and amplified by the content. "Tupelo Honey" is a primer in the use of simile and metaphor. In addition, it is constructed in the present tense. And the bonus is that by listening to this man sing about a particular woman, we can extrapolate that experience into our own. The song becomes an ode to someone I love as well, but it doesn't stop there. It is any person, and all people.

The appreciation of the song requires that we accept that there is no other way to receive this particular emotional information. It is not simply the lyrics: that is a fertile field for intellectual hobgoblins. Van Morrison's style is confrontational: he is giving you the soul required to decode the miracle of this artwork. He is standing right next to you.

Back away from the torture of logical exactitude. The words are not the message, the menu is not the food, the map is not the territory. I am not saying anything that experience will not tell you for yourself.

The true part is not Van Morrison or this song, or me listening to it: the true part is that for all the under pinnings we may feel the need to assert, immediate creation is all there is. Art gives us that truth gleefully.

[Robert Paul Howard]

Dear Edward,

"...open heart...." "...art...." "giving...the soul" - my experience is that there is shit in the honeypot, even if immediately created.

Robert Paul Howard

[Brian]

Edward, you didn't ruin the joke. I got the punchline. Or at least, I seem to remember that I did.

I felt something when I watched the video and heard the song. Lots of somethings.

Memories of my Flower Child days, insofar as memory traces were left on my usually-stoned brain.

The lyrics? Yes, secondary to the feelings. But I can't understand the words to most songs. I enjoyed reading along while listening along.

That enjoyment was real too.

Here's another "Moment of Musical Zen" from a Portland blogger. I love Joan Osborne's expressions.
http://bojack.org/2007/05/and_now_your_moment_of_zen_con_2.html

I usually don't listen to a lot of music. Two videos in two days thanks to Edward and Jack.

I'm rocking and rolling this Memorial Day weekend.

[Ashwin]

Beautiful point, Brian. Thanks.
It seems to me that this point lingers in the back alleys of our consciousness but never really reaches the lips.