Music Muse: John Coltrane- Naima

This is a wiritng assignment from the Diving Deeper Workshop. teh assigment was to pick a random piece of music and listen to while letting it soak you into it. The wirte for 20 minutes without editing.



Music Muse: John Coltrane- Naima

It is a beautiful beach, white sand with litter scattered about. A windy day in early spring before the weather changes and makes being on the beach an experience of removing clothes and feeling the sun drench the skin with love, healing and cleansing. No, it is early march and it is still quite chilly. I am wearing a windbreaker; it is blue with blue and a rip on the right sleeve near the top and a zipper that slides by a large safety pin.  I am glad I brought my hat with me to help with the temperature and sand blowing about from the wind gusts. Some gets in my eyes but it is Ok.  Everything is perfect, just perfect. Who could ask for more right?  Then why do I feel so sad and all alone?

I feel like I have everything I could possibly want out of this day and this beach and my life but I am still sad, very sad. Maybe even desperate enough to give up for good this time. Why keep fighting? What is the point and purpose any more?

I always end up alone just like right now at this moment here on the beach staring somewhat at the waves crashing in the sand and the rich smell of salt water and dead crabs on the shore.  Alone. Does it ever change?

Why is loneliness so relentless like the waves and the sand? Don’t I ever get a break from me and my thoughts and my fears and this sense of dread? Just one moment, that is all ask, for just one moment of feeling satisfied, really grateful. Not the words I use to trick myself and con you, but actually feel genuinely, wholly grateful as if I have received enough.

Enough. I remember we were at a retreat one time and after dinner we would make some fresh guacamole and eat them with blue tortilla chips from the Mexican grocery store down the street near the border of New Mexico and Mexico.  Those chips and gauc were so good. We made more every night and no matter how much we made, it was always enough. So, we decided to change the name of guacamole to ‘enough’.  We still call it ‘enough’ today. I miss those days and nights together in those intense and gut-wrenching retreats. The sense of being a part of something and part of a group nourished me the way I have not felt in years since. I wish I had the courage to go back there and dive back in again. I am not that man any more. I watch TV, stare at young girls, play on the Internet and complain about not having enough time. Enough. Nothing is ever enough. Same song keeps playing and playing in my head. No matter what I have or do not have, it is never enough. Maybe I should write a book titled Enough by Ivan Neverenuf. I could write the whole thing just sitting here with the wind blowing sand in my face and shoes and letting it all rip the truth out of me like it is a secret that I am lonely and sad or something.

Note to self: Everybody already knows! The only one you are fooling is yourself!