Craftsmanship

For me, Craftsmanship involves the constant seeking after perfection. Craftsmanship flows from a personal dedication to finding the best in myself. After I have centered myself then I expand that space to encompass the shop and the flute in my hands. Acts of craftsmanship flow from this place of inner calm and concentration. Then, the work of my hands is in tune with the Greater Good.

When a craftsman is dedicated to making musical instruments his ear is his muse. For the instrument maker there is an ideal sound calling from just over the horizon. It calls from a place just beyond the best flute I have ever made. Striving for this ideal makes me focus on even the most minute detail that may have an effect on the sound. I feel I have an obligation to bring that Spirit to every flute I make. Because the flute player deserves no less. A flute made in this way is a success even if the sound of different flutes varies in tone. Because, even though I may prefer one flute over another different people react differently. Thus, every flute finds the right player. An instrument made in this way can bring Spirit into the life of the flautist.

There are individuals who learn how to do a trick - make something - that's cool. But, they are not necessarily craftsmen. Because, their flutes are not the creation of a craftsmans hands. Their flutes may actually sound pretty good. But, when you touch it, when you look at it, when you play it something is missing. You have the work of an engineer in your hands. Engineering/manufacturing (even when well done) and craftsmanship are not the same thing.

In my view a craftsman has a right to use any tool that is available to him. Our tools are a gift of hundreds sometimes thousands of years of experimentation by generations of craftsmen. In our own time electrical tools have made many procedures easier and consistantly accurate. From the first cast iron planer to the Dewalt that I have is a matter of sixty years. Countless improvments have forged a tool that allows me to thickness plane a piece of wood to a degree of perfection not possible with hand tools. It is my personal view that to not use this technology to produce the best possible instrument would a dereliction.

There are craftsmen who make flutes using the old tools - spokeshaves, wood gouges, files. These hand tools require a very unique mental and physical space to work in. A space where every second and every movement of the hand is an art form. That type of craftsmanship is certainly to be respected.

The Acacia Tree

The bees are buzzing in an acacia tree. The acacia, which is also called cat's claw, wait-a-minute, tear blanket. It is one of the least endearing plants in the desert. It's hook shaped spines will rip a scratch down your leg just like a cats claw. But, the acacia has one of the sweetist smelling of blossoms. It's fragrance drifts on the Desert air. And, The acacia waits until the other plants have finished blooming. Then it comes to life and releases its come-hither purfume. By acting in this way it has the bees all to itself. Spring has passed. Now, only one fragrance drifts on the breeze of early Summer. It has no competition. Calling in all the honey bees. The acacia doesn't compete with the other sexy flowers. It has learned that solitude is the best. Separating yourself from the herd. Not vieing for attention. Instead, finding a space that's uniquely your own. It takes much time and experimentation. Thousands and thousands of years of patient experimentation. To slowly, cautiously, intelligently, devinely allow Time to be the teacher. Infinite patience. The acacia waits even after it's branches are warmed by the radiant rays of Spring. It waits while the other plants awaken from Winters sleep and come to life. The acacia waits. A Desert plant - a conservative plant. But, not now. Now, it is giving out everything it can afford. Calling the bees from far and wide and pollinating itself. It is preparing to drop seeds - thousands of seeds. Out of those thousands perhaps one seed will germinate in a place where it can take deep root and thrive.

Ahh, the bees, the busy little bees. They were up before dawn. Waiting for this wise Desert plant to begin to call. They were up before the Sun had broken the horizon. Standing at the entrance to their hive. Waiting for the fragrant summons. In another hour the feast will be over. The breakfast complete. The Acacia pollinated. Even now, the Acacia is beginning the process of transforming those two different germ cells from two different plants. One from itself and one from a donor carried by a bee. Now, it is combining the accumulated wisdom of millions and millions of years. It will pass on into the world a replica of itself - improved. Another genetic experiment launched.

And, they say this world is all a shadow. This marvelous shadow certainly looks real to me. Yet, I know that it is enough to see only the shadow. I must live in awareness of the form behind the shadow. The Devine form that is casting the shadow. The shadow that I see as this material reality.

Are we ready? Are we ever completely ready? It appears not. Like the Acacia we take what we experience of from the environment around us. Then we start sorting out and recombine our experiences, trying to make something better, fuller, more loving, more inclusive, more respectful, more conscious. An improved way of being in the world. Something in tune with Universal Intelligence. We have the power to be able to read from deeper within. We can see what is ideal form, ideal behavior and ideal feeling. Then we turn this understanding into something higher still through the power of Love.

A Sumer Rain

Last night at about 11 PM there was a thunder and lightning storm of great beauty. Almost continuous rumblings of thunder and lightning leaping from cloud to cloud. Enough rain began to fall to call me from my bed to close the car windows and cover the horses hay. Primo and Sheeba were running around their corral in near panic. Slowly the storm moved off to the Southwest. The air was left cool and moist. The Desert was refreshed.

This morning I woke at 5 PM and knew that I had to go for a walk in the Desert. I wanted to take advantage of the cool air and damp ground to begin to break in a new pair of moccasins. And, to commune with the revitilized spirit of nature. Out into the Desert while the Sun was just breaking over the horizon. The ground was scrubbed free of any tracks. The leaves of the bushes washed clean of dust. The air so deliciously cool that I had to put on a pair of jeans and a long sleved shirt. My backpack and Native American style flute over my shoulders and the ground passing beneth my feet. Over the ridge and into the hills beyond.