The melancholic couch potato

I live as the happy fiddler and tend to remember and tell stories about all of the joy that I find myself immersed in as a novice fiddler. I would normally sit down today to write about my recent joyful adventures: the finale of Northern Roots in Brattleboro, where a fiddle concert ended with a curtain opening to reveal forty fiddlers of all ages beaming with joy as they played “My Cape Breton Home”; or the No-Superbowl potluck jam I attended at my neighbors’ home, where the evening ended with repeating “Coleman’s March” until it became more like a prayer than playing a tune.

But today I am going to go off the grid.

For the first time in months, perhaps since I acquired my fiddle seven months ago, I did not play any tunes all day. I did not even open the case. Furthermore, for a few moments, I allowed myself to not be happy. I allowed a deep, satisfying sort of melancholia to creep through my whole body, to the point that even my limbs, which are endlessly walking, running, hiking, and fidgeting, got so tired, I could do nothing but spread out across the couch for hours--a rare phenomenon in my world. I sank deep within myself, began to breathe more easily, and embraced all of the love and joy resting in my soul, but also the sadness and pain.

I tend to be joyful and move so vigorously through life that I don’t notice that I, like everyone else, may hold sadness and pain. A wise and beloved friend recently suggested that perhaps I avoid facing the challenging situations and inner fears that we need to face in order to grow. I tend to see it more in this light: I seek out joyful people and situations, so that I can foster positive energy within myself and share that light with the world. But I have taken my friend’s point to heart and have been wondering where the line lies between seeking joy and avoiding growth. Tomorrow I may return to both fiddle and joy with renewed vigor, but tonight, plunging the depths has been delicious.

A bass in the living room

Everything was in place tonight for the Salem Old Time Jam. Our new restaurant host, Howling Wolf, seemed to be pleased with us two weeks ago and had welcomed our return for this evening's session. I had sent out an email to our group, reminding them of the day and time. I had asked a strong player to choose and lead a "tune of the week" and had sent out a recording so that members could practice it. Half an hour before the jam began, a friend stopped by my house to pick up a fiddle bow she had left behind earlier and mentioned that Howling Wolf looked a little dark. I jumped in my car, raced over to investigate, and found a scribbled sign on the door: "Closed for renovations." As luck would have it, my upstairs neighbor is away on vacation, so I figured I could get away with an impromptu jam session at home. I taped a note to the door of Howling Wolf, stating that the session had moved to my home, and darted back to pick up the living room in the hopes of accommodating our growing jam in my small condo. Maintaining a healthy sense of priorities, I also stopped on the way to procure some white wine, of the cheap boxed variety.

Seven folks gathered in my living room and the jam went on as usual. The instruments ranged from mandolin to stand up bass, which we somehow squeezed between my piano and coffee table, and the snacks ranged from stale animal crackers to caramel popcorn. Sadly, I realize that others did not see the note on Howling Wolf's door or could not find my home and I feel terrible for the inconvenience.

Now, I enjoy journaling and from time to time. Sometimes I read over my old entries and am always intrigued to see what I wrote in years gone by. Recently I read something that I wrote four years ago, when I had just moved to Salem. I had tried some sort of cheesy exercise where you are supposed to imagine things that you wish you had in your life, no matter how outlandish they seem, and list them freely. Just writing about them, the author had assured, is the first step to manifesting your dreams. Right. The hidden dream that revealed itself upon my page that day was a vision of a room full of all sorts of acoustic instruments, knowing how to play them, and having tons of people to playing with me. At the time I played classical piano and had no plans to pick up another instrument or learn traditional folk music.

So thank you members of Salem Old Time Jam, and thank you to the Howling Wolf managers for planning renovations without informing us, for a lesson in flexibility and for filling my home with all sorts of acoustic instruments and the beautiful people to play them.

Salem Jamlet Becomes a Jam

When the weather became too chilly for the Salem Jamlet to meet out on the ocean, I convinced the owner of a nearby restaurant called Scratch Kitchen to host us. A few days before the first Scratch Kitchen jam, the two most regular players let me know that they could not attend. One by one, the usual suspects from our miniscule pool of players suddenly became unavailable and nightmarish images began to churn through my mind--one not-so-happy novice fiddler attempting to play alone while diners look on, some horrified, others mildly annoyed. Tomatoes hurled across the room, splattering on my beloved fiddle. The day of the jam, I frantically emailed or called everyone I could think of, including musicians from Boston that I had met at various workshops. I begged and I pleaded, but no one seemed to be available.

I arrived at Scratch, prepared for the worst. Shortly after the jam was scheduled to begin, a highly skilled fiddler I had met at Rustic Roots hobbled through the door, armed with crutches, guitar and fiddle. And I knew that all would be well. Over the next ten minutes, several other unexpected players appeared, the jam went smoothly, and we were invited to continue meeting at Scratch Kitchen.

In the new year Scratch will not be open on Monday nights, so tonight marked our first jam at Howling Wolf--a much larger, heavily populated Mexican restaurant. When I arrived, several newcomers to the jam were already seated, carefully applying rosin to their bows. Musicians proceeded to pour through the door until we were spilling out of the alcove Howling Wolf had allotted to us. Thirteen players. Several professional musicians or teachers. Fiddles, guitars, banjo, standup bass, uke, even a hammered dulcimer.

Before me was a mass of friends and strangers, all better musicians than myself, and somehow I was supposed to lead it. Couldn't someone else take charge? Anyone but the girl who got her first fiddle six months ago. I didn't even know how to get everyone's attention so that I could welcome the newcomers. I quietly asked a friend to start "Over the Waterfall" with me and by the third time through, everyone had jumped in and we found one another through the beat and melody of an old familiar tune. We played it over and over and by the time the tune ended, the beast before me had become one body and we played together as such for the next two hours.

Come join us at Howling Wolf on Monday, January 16, 6:00-8:00.

Fiddle, love, and the bottom of the bucket

December vacation nears its end, leaving me full of fiddle tunes, names for God, and Love. One divine quality that resonated with me was Ar-Rahim, the capacity to receive deep love and compassion on all levels of our being. Ar-Rahim is like the moon, whereas Ar-Rahman is like the sun--our ability to let love and compassion beam from our core. The Sufi Book of Life relates a parable to illustrate the quality of Ar-Rahim:

A student arrives at the home of Mullah, the wise fool. Mullah asks his student to help him draw water from the well, and then Mullah begins to splash water into his bucket. The student observes that the water level of the bucket is not rising as Mullah frantically splashes more water into the bucket, and goes on to notice a sizable leak at the bottom of the bucket. He points out the leak and explains to Mullah that his efforts to fill the bucket are futile. "My friend," Mullah responds, "I was only looking at the top of the bucket. What does the bottom have to do with it?"

How often it is that we only look at the top of the bucket, at what more we can receive, rather than considering how to process and lovingly hold what we have already received. With this mind frame, more is never enough, whether we are dealing with love, knowledge, wealth, or, say, fiddle tunes. Perhaps we can practice receiving all of the blessings that come to us in such a way that we are not left unsatisfied, needing more all the time.

While I was considering this divine quality over the past days, a friend suggested that I write a blog entry titled "Fiddle and Love." This friend was almost certainly referring to the romantic liaisons that have sprung up in my life around my love for the fiddle. I confess, there have been a few.

Such a blog entry might hone in on such musical romantic adventures as strapping instruments into bike paniers for a midsummer ride to Singing Beach to play tunes by the side of the ocean, or waking up to learn a new tune in pajamas before making breakfast or brushing teeth, or piano and fiddle duets in a cozy living room before bed. Or perhaps the blog entry would hone in on those pesky questions that arise at times: Are you using me for fiddle tunes? Am I using you for fiddle tunes? Or is fiddle just a humble path to YOU? Does it even matter anyway?

At this moment in my journey, there is very little that I know for sure about the fiddle or love--although I have a feeling that the bottom of the bucket is where many of the answers lie. Take care of the bottom of the bucket so these beautiful adventures remain always within; take care of the bottom so that the love you receive fulfills you and does not leave you always needing something more; take care of the bottom and keep practicing, perfecting, and loving all the tunes you already know, rather than wanting always to learn a new tune. In a sea of unsureness, I have found great comfort this week in tending to the bottom of my bucket.

With the bottom of the bucket in mind, for two days I have limited my fiddling to reviewing and enjoying the tunes I have already learned....until yesterday, when a handsome fiddler passed on a pdf file of fiddle tunes and asked me to start working on them from page one, so that he and I might bolster our common repertoire. I am eager to learn the first tune, which is appropriately named "The Bottom of the Punchbowl."

Al~Muntaqim, Dry and Dusty

A daily fiddle tune and name for God has made for a rather divine vacation thus far. I have learned one important lesson: that I cannot attempt reels if I want to learn a tune every day, because these tunes take me several days to learn, it turns out. So I'll stick with jigs, polkas, and old time for a bit.

A favorite name for God so far has been Al~Batin: The Hidden Traveler. It is the quality of God that lives deep within and is hidden from others; the traveler within us that walks without feet. It reminds us that sometimes, wisdom is best left as a secret within our hearts. Silence is important and beautiful at times. On the day that I had chosen this name, I happened to have a fiddle lesson. My teacher aptly chose "Arkansas Traveler," and brought to light the old time bowing patterns that lid hidden within this simple melody.

This morning brought me to Al~Muntaqim, a quality of God connected with sweeping out the dusty rooms of our heart, or purifying ourselves from any affectations we may have taken on to please others. The book shares a lovely Shabistari poem the illustrate the point:

"...Why don't you sweep out the rooms of your heart

and prepare them to be the home of the Beloved?

When you leave, the One can enter.

Freed from self, the Beloved reveals its beauty.

Purified from all impressions

your real self outgrows differences--

knower and known become one."

Searching for a tune that could somehow connect, I was delighted to learn that one of my favorites from Brittany Haas's CD happens to be called "Dry and Dusty."

Al~`Ali, Green Mountain

The introduction of The Sufi Book of Life suggests that the reader not go in order through the ninety nine names, but rather flip through the book, or even open randomly, and "if something strikes you, stick with it." This morning I found myself at:

Name 36: Al~`Ali. Experiencing Life at Its Peak

This "L" is a deep consonant that brings you to the back of your throat sending the sound back to the physical body, not the kind of "L" that floats out into the air in front of us, as in the words "light" and "laughter." It captures the quality of being at the peak of everything, but in a way that leaves space for our own constructed notions of the self to disappear. Perhaps we are experiencing a "peak moment" through the grace of God--a moment that we can simply experience in its Divine fullness without analyzing or imposing concepts upon it. Douglas-Klotz reminds us to see these moments as a reflection of God in us; these experiences do not belong to us, but rather are a loan from the Divine, to remind us that there is more work to be done.

Ya-Ali. I could not stop saying this word, once I began this morning. It filled me with such a grounding peace; with permission to live at the peak of this joy that fills my life; with a call to view this moment, with gratitude, as a loan from God.

Time to try a fiddle tune. A new fiddle friend just emailed me three volumes of Irish music. The first volume alone, which supposedly only includes the most common of tunes, contains about 120. So the Irish zeal for writing tunes has outdone the Sufi passion for naming God. (Although the book has about the 99 names, it does assert that there are infinite qualities of the Divine.... It's still entirely possible that the Irish tunes win out, I'm not sure.)

So, feeling at the peak of life, I scrolled through the first volume of Irish tunes and decided to try a tricky little reel: "Green Mountain."

Ar-Rahman, Tucker's Barn

I began my two-week December vacation last night by riding across the the Beverly Bridge, fiddle strapped securely in a panier, to play at the Atomic Cafe Irish session. There were six of us altogether--four fiddles, a flute, and a guitar--most of whom were familiar faces. We played many old favorites and, as always, I left with a list of tunes to learn before the next session. On the chilly ride home from Beverly, I decided to learn one new tune each day of this vacation. Sixteen tunes.

This morning, I awoke with fiddle music in my heart, but forced myself to hold off as my friend, who is temporarily living on the floor of my study, was still asleep. So I turned to my kitchen bookshelf, where books unrelated to the seventh grade curriculum tend to sit and gather dust until summertime. I picked up a pristine copy of The Sufi Book of Life: 99 Pathways of the Heart for the Modern Dervish by Neil Douglas-Klotz. I had learned about this book at a Sufi retreat last month and purchased it, imagining that I may one day have time to read it.

A dervish, the introduction reminded me, is "one who sits in the doorway or on the threshold or something, ready to move on and transform him- or herself." The 99 pathways are Arabic words that are names of the the Beloved, or God. They are powerful words that embody a living spiritual experience of the Divine and can awaken us to the pathways to God that already exist in our hearts. Over the past years, I have worked in meditation with a small handful of the these names, but am largely ignorant of the others, and have never taken up a consistent practice of working with them.

So. Why not one pathway and one fiddle tune for each day of vacation? The final week of Advent and subsequent Holy Nights are a magical time--a time when the earth around us is at its darkest and we are all invited to let Divine light shine within. Perhaps the joyful practices of welcoming each day with a new fiddle tune and a new name for God, will ..... well I'm not quite sure what it will do, but I do want to try it.

So.......

Pathway 1: Ar-Rahman: The Sun of Love. This is the kind of love that shines from within us and comes from a deeper source; it is always there, waiting to be discovered. Sometimes we have to give up a part of ourselves or ideas we hold in order to seek it. Douglas-Klotz illuminates this pathway by sharing the following poem by Mahmud Shabistari:

"The stakes are high for real prayer.

You must gamble your self

and be willing to lose.

When you have done this,

and your self shakes off

what you believed your self to be,

then no prayer remains,

Only a sparkle of the eyes.

Knower and known are one."

Here is to cultivating this divine sun that lives within. Ar-Rahman. Bismallah Ar-Rahman Ar-Rahim. My first step in doing so was to learn "Tucker's Barn," a cheery old time tune in G.