A profound thought...

Getting back into the swing of daily writing is not coming easily...the ideas are in the head, but the daily distractions and instant-excuses for procrastination pudding have been winning out more than not. Just finishing up a long run of weather shifts at my former station, on my former shift. When in my 30's, going to sleep at 6pm and getting up at 1230am for work was something I got used to, the weird shift and hours. No more is that the case. Eegads, but that just messes with the body clock, energy levels, and everything else 'living'.

My flute work is as much spiritual as it is artistic as it is musical. Just about any flute maker (and I'm sure instrument maker, period) will at some point talk about how the wood talks to you....each piece of wood has its own Spirit and voice, and no two are quite alike. They aren't always A-listers when finished, but they are unique, nonetheless.

I recently went and spoke to a group at Cooper Riis in Polk County about my Journey with The Flute. I had my two pups in tow out of necessity, and arrived early as is my custom. In walking the three of us around one large field, I picked up an old stick that had fallen beneath a tree, just a little 8" piece that was well on it's way into the rotting process. Into my pocket it went.

After situating the pups in the car and fluffing their quilts and lowering windows, I grabbed my "bucket o' flutes" and headed inside. After introductions, I was turned loose to wander down my extemporaneous mental footpath, bouncing from topic to topic as I do when I get excited...and I always do with my flutes.

Along the winding presentation road, I discussed my branch flutes and how I look for fallen branches with certain dimensions and craft them into Singing Sticks.

I pulled the old stick out of my pocket. I looked at it and turned it over, asking the attendees what they thought about it. It was dead, rotting, too small and crumbly for a flute, and something any and everyone would walk right over and never notice.

Sometimes the most profound thoughts are the simplest.

You've heard it said that we never "die" but "transform" levels of energy and existence. Oh, our bodies give up the ghost, literally and figuratively, but the Soul lives on. And it matters not what side of the religious fence you favor, it's all Source, as Wayne Dyer calls it. Our social conventions have taught us to label and judge things as "dead" or "alive", "good" or "bad", "right" or "wrong", and the like. Many blindly assume that to be Truth and never question it.

The Periodic Table of Elements came to mind, the source of many a young scientist's early hurdle to grasp. EVERYthing is made up of elements, be it in pure form or in compounds. At the base is the atom, with a nucleus of protons and neutrons. About that swirls a field of electrons, each combination of those three making an element unique, identifiable. Just a chapter in The Cliff Notes version of Life, of course. And don't forget the three basic states of solids, liquids, and gasses....from virtually nil to helter skelter aplenty, the space for electrons to 'do their thing' varies, BUT....they still "do their thing". Always and all ways.

Call it God, Creator, The Great Mystery, Yaweh...and maybe some don't call it anything at all...SOMEthing, some force, has created/orchestrated this incessant atomic energy and motion. It's part of Life's magic.

No way in hell that stick could EVER be dead. The tree is no longer taking up water and undergoing photosynthesis, so in that semantic sense it's "dead"; but that rotting stick still contains those whirring electron fields...and is very much 'alive' in that sense. The atoms continue to 'be' exactly what they've always been. The sheer joy and humbling wonderment for me is to take wood and create an alternate energy and lifeform in the form of music and aesthetic beauty.
'
Life never ends...like matter, it only transforms. Everything is "alive" when you stop and think about it, possessing Life's Essence, Source, whatever you want to call it...or Her...or Him. Native Americans would tell you to listen to ALL the world around you. The Grandfather Rocks possess the knowledge of the earth's history, and to sit with the rocks and truly 'listen' can help you find your Truths and answers. Water is the giver of life on many levels. When natives took something from the wild, they would offer tobacco as an offering, honoring the Spirit that abides in not only that which was taken but the community from which it came. They knew and understood fully that the Great Mystery was in all things.

Perception.

A Cherokee elder held up a cigarette and asked me one time if there was anything sacred about it. I immediately thought of all the cancers and deaths that 'invention' had caused and continues to cause, and my disdain for the 'coffin nail' showed through easily. He quietly split the paper and poured the tobacco into his hand and repeated his question. In a quiet instant, what had only moments ago been a negative symbol, became a prayerful and respectful offering.

Sometimes the most simple things can be the most empowering.