Around the Bend

I know that there is a place somewhere down the road, not to far away. Perhaps just around the next bend, or over the next little rise in the rocks. It is a place whose horizon has no end, and the space above my head reaches to infinity. I will stand in that field as the sun is rising, as its rays are beginning to illuminate the outlines of the rocks and trees. I will stand erect with my eyes gazing in front of me. Then I will make a slow 360-degree turn and pan the horizon with my eyes for the last time. I will say goodbye to the mountains, I will say goodbye to the clouds, I will say goodbye to the moon, I will say goodbye to the sun and its rising majesty. I will say goodbye to all the lovely sights never to be seen again.
As I stand there I will apologize to all the people I have hurt in my life through my ignorance and my pain. I’m sorry. I let that go. Then I will remember all the people, all the wonderful people who have helped me along my path. Each one contributing something immeasurable, indefinable, beyond limits, to my life. Wonderful people who have broadened the horizon of my consciousness. Thank You. Though you know not who you are, you carried a message that was important for me. Thank You.
I will embrace the people who I have loved here on this earthly plane. For the last time I will feel their body press against mine in an ecstasy of trust and love. Thank you, I love you dearly. Perhaps I have not touched many. But that was not mine to decide, nor mine to judge what is beyond my understanding, far beyond, far beyond. Each and every one is an important member of my family. Playing their role to absolute perfection in this fantastic experience we call the evolution of human consciousness.
I will look again at the rays of the rising sun and at the moon overhead. I will see the mountains waiting patiently to catch the first rays of the sun. I will say goodbye with all my heart, to the glories that are life on this planet Earth.
But that must wait for another day, for there are many miles yet for these aging legs to wander, people to meet, wonderful conversations to have. Insights with all their brilliant beauty flashing here and there. Insights bringing messages of love and truth and joy. So I tarry awhile, look around at that wonderful field, and then go back into the desert. I climb back over a hill and re-enter the world of men again, one more time to say "Hello, what's going on?"

The Rising Sun

The age of the warrior is almost over. The bloody sunset of this era of violence will soon fade from our eyes and memories. Already dawning is the age of Peace. The age of the singer, the dancer, the player of flutes. The age of the beater of drums, the lovers of women and of men, the lovers of the world, the darlings of creation, the hope of the future. A future when the sons and daughters of man will live in harmony with the earth. The days of death dealing are coming to an end. Oh blessed end to the millennia of strife and violence. The days, months, years, centuries, millennia of the bloody warriors were many. To long violence and the fear of violence held sway over the minds of hearts of humanity.
Soon the days of fear, want and exile will be over for ever. The doors are open wide to a new and glorious future. A future in which even the memory of violence is erased from the soul of mankind. We descended into the pit and toiled on the earth. Sweat poured from our brow and blood from our wounds. Man lived in fear, and died in pain. The wheel of time turns slowly, slowly, slowly on the axis of the Universe.
Everything we need is always and ever at our fingertips. When we are free of fear and give openly and generously to each other, there is no longer want. Children no longer experience poverty. Parents no longer experience fear and anxiety for the welfare of their children. In the world around us we see a social system that condones the suffering of children. A system that allows hunger to fill their bellies with pain and their eyes with tears. This system is Evil to its very core. It will soon be erased forever from the face of this beautiful, generous, loving, supportive planet we call Earth.
Oh glorious days of the rising sun with its gentle, nurturing rays. God given Sun radiating equally to all the energy of life. Spreading its wings of light across the sky. Blessing us with its abundant glory. Manifesting for us through every second of our lives its generosity and power. Hear us oh Sun, we are bringing your truth and light and strength into the world. We carry in our hand a piece of your torch. We carry in our heart the truth of your love. We too, each in our own unique way bare gifts of light to share and illuminate the hearts of our brothers and sisters. And they in turn do the same for us. Oh glorious day of the rising sun. Hope of mans liberation and fulfillment, in concert with the mothers and the fathers and the brothers and the sisters and the sons and the daughters singing a new song. Filling the air with joyful triumphant music, playing the drum, playing the flute, shaking the rattle, moving the feet dancing ecstatically, celebrating the dawn of a new age of Peace.

Honey is Getting Old

I watch Honey now, she's changing... She's been changing all along. Life is just a long series of changes, and possibly transformations. Honey's days of running, and skipping across the desert, almost like a bird touching the ground, have passed. She will never experience that again. Now she walks slowly and prefers to stay in my footsteps.

If she explores ahead, she may go down one path and I'll choose another. Then Honey will have to backtrack to catch up with me. In her genes she knows that she can no longer expend that extra energy. So she follows dutifully and quietly at my heels.
Watching Honey age is a painful but enlightening experience, Because in her, in my dear Honey, I see myself. I feel things now in a rather alarming fashion - in pains that I have never experienced before. Once I had a body like the young Honey. It was the body of the young John. I also ran across the desert and my feet barely touched the ground. My body never said no, never said tired, never said pain; that is over for me as it is over for Honey.

But unlike Honey I choose not to go down the path of limitation, of progressive decline of changing behaviors, the new behaviors becoming ever limited in scope. If I listen to the messages of pain and begin to restrict my movements and activities in response to my body saying "No don't go there, No I'm tired, No don't do that" I’ll do what Honey is doing. Honey without thought follows the path of limitation. Her body says "be careful take it easy" and she obeys. The human mind, my mind, is different in one sense, I can tell my body what to do; I can override its genetic program, the one that slowly shuts down activity and spirals ever more rapidly toward death.

It is not because I fear death that I choose not to allow my body dictate to me. It is because I know that the natural progression can be changed through the simple act of will. "Yes I WILL take that step, I WILL except my pain as a messenger, as a gentle friend, as a new level of consciousness". I find these changes to be an interesting new sensation of awareness and fullness in my body. Because the pain shows me so many new places that I never knew existed. It helps in the visualization of my skeletal and muscular structure; like a light being shown into a dark corner. These new sensations light up areas of my body awareness which until this point had been totally unconscious.

The Sun is about to rise over the rocks. It's journey South into Winter progressing day by day. Will Honey and I be here to witness the winter solstice? Will we be here to watch the Sun reverse its course and begin to climb again towards the North and arch higher and higher across the sky? Will we see its rays becoming ever more intense and vivifying until they begin to bake the desert?

Now a cooler wind is blowing down from the mountains. October, more clouds in the air. Not a single bird singing this morning,. The mating season, that great pull of life to reproduce and expand itself is over. The Earth is going back to rest, the plants going back to rest, the birds moving further South to more abundant climes, to warmer winds.

The Blue Jays remain but they are silent now. Their last feeding frenzy of the Fall when the pinion pines opened their cones and exposed the tender seeds within is over. And now a Jay comes by to take a look at my strange presence in the middle of his world. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't cry in alarm. He just looks. We share this fall/ winter approaching landscape in silence.

Ahhhh the sun, peaking its burning corner above the rocks.

Trust, Love, Respect and the Fabric of Creation

How do we take that most important of all steps? The step out side our selves. How can we, how can the world, find peace when it’s all about me, myself and I? I no longer envision this step as some sudden transformation. But, instead it is taking the form of many, small but important, changes in behavior. Remember the bumper sticker – “Practice Random Acts of Kindness”. How much difference could one small act of kindness make? We can never know until we do it. When it’s about me, we don’t do it. Hey isn’t it about making things easier for me. What do I get out of giving to the other guy?

Lack of trust in others. Lack of respect for others. Lack of Love for one of these the least of my children. When we do, if we do, it differently – without thought of reward – we make another step towards bringing the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. If I don’t who will? I may not always experience positive results. But, I have been given direction by every saint and prophet and savior who has spoken out as the mouth of God that the result will not be lost. Our effort will never be in vain.

Why do we hesitate to believe and act on the clear directions that we have been given? Are we afraid that it won’t work – that we will be taken advantage of? Sure, that was OK for Jesus – I mean he was Jesus – but not for me. I’m just an ordinary person. But didn’t he say ‘what I do you can and must do also’.

So I extend my hand. And if it’s bitten, I will extend it again. That’s the hard part - I was nice to this guy and he hurt me, I won’t be fool enough to do that again. But, I must. I must offer trust again and again. In spite of knowing that sometimes my trust will be betrayed. How can I turn back now that I have put my shoulder to the plow?

I may not see the Kingdom in this lifetime. But I know it is coming. And I know that when I respect, love and trust you that the Kingdom draws nearer to us both and to all our brothers and sisters who labor in the fields of the Lord.

Sunday Morning Service

I wake up at 3 PM. I’m fresh because I took a nap on Saturday to store up some extra energy. I know the moon will be setting soon. I would prefer to walk in the moonlight. Even if the moon is low in the sky near the horizon it reflects a lot of light. But I know that by the time I am prepared and into the desert the moon will have set below the horizon. The waiting dawn will not yet be visible. The land will be very dark. I know that darkness and don’t exactly relish it.

My pack is ready. I have water, and extra layer if it gets chilly, my Love flute. I fix a quick snack and get out of the four walls. I feed the horses as I pass by – half a ration. They will get the rest when I get back. I enter the darkness like going into a dense fog bank. Suddenly I can’t see my feet and barely see my hands. The world is a phantasmagoria of subtle lights. Every shape is vague and distant. Blue-gray is the dominant color.

The dark takes away the known with all it’s built in securities. Now I can barely perceive where I am in space. Chasms can open up under me upon a misstep. Walking becomes an absolute focus of attention. Feeling with my toes and the balls of my feet before committing my full weight to the step. My insecurities surface and must be neutralized or I will fall. I know from past experience that my body can do this if I can agree to let it.

It means doing strange things like walking on all fours. Using my body like my brothers the chimps and apes. Three secure places to balance on before committing to the next move. It’s slow – especially if I allow the mind to want to get somewhere. Then it becomes tedious. I must abandon myself to the now – no future, no past, just here. What comes may.

There are many mountains to climb. Places to go and people to meet and Native American style flutes to play. Will any of that happen? When I left my room I put thing in order knowing that I might never come back. Not that it would make any difference. Or would it? It feels right to me so that is the way I do it. What is the best way I can leave a room? Or leave a life?

The Birds Fly South

The birds have stopped singing and the hot dry has gripped the desert. Now the days are getting shorter. The cool days of Fall are a longed for respite. Even knowing that the cutting winds of Winter are not far behind. The birds have already started to move higher into the mountains in search of food and more hospitable temperatures. Soon some will start the long journey South for the winter. Many of the smart desert plants are dropping their leaves so as to conserve precious water. They will lie dormant until awakened for Spring by the Winter rains – if there are any.

The Desert ecosystem is a master of the art of conservation of energy. As I get older and the vigor of my youth wanes I understand better the necessity of energy efficiency. The impulse to measure my every movement for waste brings with it a certain respect for the limitations that come with physical life. It is a reminder that nothing can exist outside of the Circle of Life and its delicate balance of creation and dissolution, birth, life and death.

How have we managed to lose contact with Mother Nature? We are bleeding her to death to fuel a joy ride that cannot be sustained. Where is the respect for the land that generations before ours took so seriously?

Now I devote myself to making happiness available to a world hungry for a feeling of peace and togetherness. Happiness in the form of a simple musical instrument called the Native American flute. It’s not a grand project, I know. It won’t attract any government funding or a spot on Ophra. But, it’s enough for me to know that every Love flute is making a difference is someone’s life. Somewhere there is a song where before there was none. Someone is playing a tune and others are listening. The world turns another time. The birds start South. Tomorrow I will return to my shop and make a few more flutes.

Drops of Summer Rain

The big dry is tightening its grip on the desert. The bees are frantically working the last of the nectar from the fading acacias. The jujube fruit is ripening. Even as this is happening the sun is moving again towards the South. Summer monsoon rain clouds gathered this morning as the sun rose. I even felt a few invisible drops on my exposed arms. Just those miniscule scattered droplets brought hidden aromas into the air. The clouds provide a welcome respite from the terrible power of the Summer sun.

My children are growing up. Never again will I feel them cuddling in my arms as I sit in my chair. Now they are slowly detaching from my protective embrace. Ready to try the world on their own. Young birds scurry about after their parents. Learning the ways of their new world. Now mother and father begin to drive the off. Time to become independent. Some will make it. Others, not so strong, clever or just plain lucky fall by the wayside.

Soon I will no longer be able to provide protection and guidance for those I love so dearly. I will leave this place of joys and sorrows to go on to the next stage of my journey. Will I look back and remember? The lessons learned, the struggles won and lost?

In a similar fashion civilizations are born and fade again into the sands of time. O when will we find release from this epoch of violence and anger? So many lives sacrificed on the altar of ignorance and superstition. The treasure of an entire planet, nurtured and preserved for billion of years, squandered in a few generations of mindless consumption. The wealth of the ages used to maim, kill and destroy. The genius of mankind turned upon itself.

We have lost our way and wander in ignorance. One brother takes up arms against another to kill him. When will a true Messiah return to save us from ourselves? Father in heaven we cry out to you. Send us help. Teach us anew how to live in your ways. We who are in such need beseech you. Put your healing hand on our bleeding wounds and deliver us from the evil that has gripped the land.

An Answer or a Question

How did I happen to arrive here, in a human body, on planet earth? Leaving open the question of where and what I was before I arrived here – I now find myself in a place called space and time. I don’t know about you but for me the trip hasn’t been easy.

Sometimes I intimate that I had some precognition that coming here would not be a picnic. But for some reason that I can’t remember I signed on anyway. Any prior knowledge of what I was in for got wiped clean by the shock and awe of the entry process and its immediate aftermath. I mean wow! To be dropped into a social phenomena in full on freak out mode. Here I am, weighing eight pounds, totally helpless, unable to do anything for myself. I’m dependent for survival on a couple of messed up, barely functional characters that can hardly take care of themselves much less a newborn baby. They call themselves Mom and Dad. And they managed somehow, screwed up as they were, to keep me alive. Physically alive – but the psychological trauma was overwhelming. I’m still dealing with the residual defensive programs I created to protect my mind from the onslaught of their terrifying behavior.

I know something similar must have happened to you too. I haven’t met anyone here who, if they are being open and honest, doesn’t cop to having found themselves in a similar situation. Of course most people I meet are in total denial/defensive mode. So they are not and cannot be open and honest. They are functional – if you can call it that. But their network of unconscious defensive behaviors doesn’t allow for open meaningful communication. Either they have found refuge in some God the big, perfect father religion. Or they are lost in a state of perpetual frenetic activity based on acquiring things and having pleasurable experiences.

This begs the question – what is the purpose of my being here? So far no clear answer has come to me. My best intuition is that I am involved in some sort of learning process. I am discovering that this space/time dimension must be some sort of classroom. Is it a classroom where I am being exposed to experiences that can provide information about the nature of my self?

Buddha said that the origin of suffering was desire. Desire for what? I have this feeling that there is something just out of reach and that if I only possessed it everything would be OK. The nagging uncertainty would be erased and I would be at peace. Jesus, in a more Zen like mode, says get over it - the Kingdom is at hand – it is within you. What impulse, what motivation, gave Jesus, Buddha and all the myriads of saints and prophets the energy to reach out to those around them? What did they expect to accomplish? Buddha’s followers have written thousands upon thousands of words trying to convey the essence of something beyond words. Jesus left behind a few confused people who saw their dream of the Kingdom on earth evaporate like a fog in the heat of the day.

What is that something that is so hard to communicate? Is it impossible to communicate? Is that something waiting patiently. It has always been there and always will be there – hidden in plain sight. Waiting for someone to recognize it. Talk, scream, jump up and down – no one will listen. Oh go on, the Kingdom of God is within me? I don’t think so. And I have so much to do. Do you have a sermon? A tape I can listen to? I like what you are saying, you should write a book. Then I can read about this Kingdom you’re talking about. I’ll find time; I’ll get around to it. And I’ll think about it too. Honestly I will.

I have my flute. It channels the music that flows without hesitation, without pause. The music that has always been there in the wind blowing though the trees and the birds announcing a new dawn. Is it just beyond reach or already here? Does the music have the answer? Or does it simply pose a question? Are the questions a progressively expanding state of awe that in itself contains the only answer? Have a nice day and fulfill the promise.

Just the Other Side of Who We Are

We have our life. But no matter how much stuff we acquire it feels like there is something missing. A hidden something that if it were just to be revealed everything that was not right would be right. There would no longer be a longing because the picture would be complete. We’re sitting in front of a fire surrounded by everyone we love and we all know that it couldn’t be any different. It couldn’t be any better. We know that wherever we go we are always in the right place and that everything we need is always with us.

What is that place? Is it already here? Is it always here and we’re too busy being busy to notice it. Why does it take some tragedy, like the death of a loved one to make us realize that we didn’t give enough. That we didn’t take enough. That we were too busy to listen and now the missed opportunities haunt us like a mother with open arms that will never be filled.

When we play, when we forget the worries and pressures of ourselves we touch something precious. That something is an intimation of the space that is filled with love. The love that is asking only to be recognized in order to become present.
We intuit with a poignant regret that we’re missing something. The most important thing. The one thing that will bring healing and peace. We’re missing the connection to that place just beyond who I am.

Remember, you have touched that place. You know where it is. The music coming from your Indian flute calls you over to that side where the sun shines on a meadow filled with Spring wildflowers. In that meadow is the answer and the love that we know we have somehow lost sight of. When the music ends and you put down your Native American flute don’t forget that meadow. Keep it in your heart throughout the day. Don’t forget to tell people that you love them. It feels strange at first, I know. But it gets easier. You can give the very best of yourself. The sunshine of that perfect place gives you strength. You are a spring of living water and that water is love.

Time, Space, Love and the Native American Flute

We measure space by the five directions – North, South, East, West, Up and Down. We measure time in years, days, hours, minutes and seconds. With this mental construct we give order to the space-time continuum. We experience ourselves within space and time as a conscious awareness. I am. I am finds itself emanating form a material form we call the human body. This body, we now know, has taken billions of years to achieve its present configuration. We find ourselves to be a locus of experience within the form of a living, mobile, organic being capable of speculating on the source of its existence.

With our body we move about on the surface of a ball of matter we call a planet. This ball is itself moving through something we call space at an incredible speed. This planet is one of a whole family of spheres of matter rotating around a huge ball of energetic activity we call the Sun. This Sun, a star, is one of an inconceivable number of other stars.

Time, space, matter, awareness. To what end, to what purpose, have these come into existence. I sit at my computer and you sit at yours. We don’t know each other. But we are asking similar questions. What is this experience of Life for? Am I here for a reason? Is there purpose in Life? Toward what end have billions of years of careful, patient evolution been moving? Idle questions – No!

Pick up your flute. Play a tune. Wonder at the perfection of sound filling inner and outer space. Feel the joy of being alive and having the divine opportunity to express your life in music. With your music sing praise to the Power that has brought into being this wonderful world. The Power that sustains you, me and all the wondrous forms and feelings that are the Universe.

Play and Heal With the Native American Flute

This morning I went out into the desert before dawn. The air was cool with just an edge of crispness. With my flute in my backpack I start off into the hills. In the West the moon is almost full. A faint glow of the coming sun is barely visible in the East. I have moccasins on my feet I walk softly. I feel the body of Mother Earth through the soles.

For several years now I have made it a habit to spend my Sunday mornings alone in the Desert. For me nature is the power of God manifest in physical form. On Sunday morning the world pauses for a moment. There is a palpable relaxation of tension as society takes a pause in its busy schedule. The disturbing sounds of people bustling off to work are absent.

Gradually the light of the magnificent Sun returns to a still sleeping world. The first bird song pierces the stillness of the dawn. A mocking bird announcing his territorial imperative. The air resonates with his thrill of life. Reaching a familiar hilltop I put down my pack and take a long drink of water. I take my flute out of its bag and begin to play.

Off in the distance a civilization is dying. The age of the merchants is ending. They have held us in thrall to their sirens call of material wealth for so long. The age of the mystic-lover is dawning. This new civilization is like a rising Sun. It is now a faint light on the horizon. Our hearts thrill to the promise of a new day.

The Native American flute is a tool that is helping bring about this change. It brings each of us into contact with our true self. Our true self is Love. We are children of light. We are sons and daughters of the Holy power that has brought into being and supports all Life. The Love flute helps bring us into direct contact with that power. Music is part of the very fabric of creation. It is a link to the always-mysterious flow of creative energy that we call the Universe.

With each new player the circle of Love grows. We meet in a place that is without boarders. It is an expanding circle with the larger circle of Life. When we pick up our flutes and play we bring healing harmony into a dissonant society. You and I and everyone who expresses his heart through the Indian flute are emissaries from the Kingdom come.

There is nothing to do. No plans to make or speeches to give. Powers beyond our ability to conceive are flowing through each one of us. Healing and hope for the future are in our music. With our simple songs we send out an invitation to forgive, relax, enjoy and play together.

May the Holy power of the Father – Mother be with you this and every day. May your flute songs sing out healing to a troubled world. May peace reign on Earth.

Wood Species and Tonal Quality in the Native American Style Flute

I do not put wood type near the top of my list of things that affect tonal quality in Native American style flutes. That does not mean that I am not aware that different types of wood produce different types of tone. I do not personally use soft woods such as cedar and redwood. There are many factors that lead to this decision. I will not go into them here.

Wood density is measured on a scale called the Janka Hardness Scale. Alaska cedar, for example, has a rating of 580. Ipe, a dense tropical hardwood, has a rating of 3680. The hardwoods that I use range from a density of 1010 for black walnut to Indian rosewood with a rating of 3170.

There is no such thing in nature as a pure sign wave tone. Any tone – like a tone in the key of A – is always a mixture of tones. The predominant tone is that of A – vibrating at 440 Hz. But, mixed in with that tone are other tones both above 440 Hz and below it. These tones are called overtones. They add color to the pure sign wave or note.

Wood that is lower in density, such as walnut, has a tendency to selectively absorb sound vibrations of a certain wavelength. The vibrations that have the greatest tendency to be absorbed are the higher vibrations or overtones. Higher density woods tend to reflect these overtones not absorb them. Tones that are not absorbed by the wood itself are projected out into the surrounding atmosphere and strike the ear. Thus, they become part of the musical experience. Overtones that are absorbed into the wood do not get projected out into the atmosphere. They do not reach the ear and consequently do not become part of the musical experience.

A flute that is in the key of A has a brighter tone than a flute in the key of E. Higher overtones, like higher keyed flutes, are usually called bright overtones. Some people prefer higher, brighter tones. Others prefer lower, moodier tones. It is my opinion that a good flute should have the proper balance of higher and lower tones.

When I am making a flute in a higher key – such as an A – I want to balance the tonal quality. The flute is naturally going to be bright. If it is too bright then the tone can begin to sound hard and penetrating. If I were following my own personal preference I would prefer to use a lower density wood. I would do this to absorb some of the higher overtones. By neutralizing these extreme tones I would take some of the edge off the hardness. The resulting flute would sound more comfortable to the ear.

Lower keyed flutes on the other hand tend to be dull. If I were making a flute with a lower tone such as an E or lower I want to preserve bright overtones. So I would make the flute out of a harder wood. In my experience the harder the wood the better. I do this because the flute is already laid back in tonal quality. I want to preserve as many bright tones as I can so that they are projected out into the atmosphere. By preserving the bright warm overtones the flute retains as much of a happy, bright quality as possible. These qualities are the ones that tend to be lacking in the lower keyed flutes.

These are not hard and fast rules. Every hand made instrument is different. Some, perhaps many, will violate these principles. Also, as I have tried to explain in previous articles, there are many other factors that are simultaneously having their effect on the tonal character of the flute.

Subtraction and Addition

Subtraction and Addition or Learning to Play the Native American style Flute

It sometimes seems to me that learning to play the Native American flute is more a matter of subtraction than addition. I don’t seem to be adding knowledge about how to play the flute. What I have been doing is subtracting all the faulty psychological programs that stand between me and freedom from fear. It is the fear of failure, of not doing it right, of what others may think that inhibits my playing. These fears keep me from allowing the flute to express itself in whatever way it chooses.

I intuit that these fears were implanted early in childhood. Unrealistic expectations. Demands to do it the right way. Testing and the fear of failure. These anxieties come between me and the freedom to play with absolute abandon. When due to some combination of intent and divine good fortune I enter the zone, playing becomes a truly creative experience. It is an experience where sounds I have never heard before are manifesting. And feelings that I seldom experience are rising to the surface.

Some of us will take our flute playing to places that others will not. This is natural and perfectly OK. Each of us has his own individual lessons to learn and songs to express. This diversity is what makes life so fascinating. How dull if we were all the same. Or how dull if we were all striving for the same goal. Perhaps there are an unlimited multitude of goals. Each one tailor made to allow the individual – you and me - to reach his fullest potential. If we let go of goals to be reached will we find that there are no goals? Will we find there are only roads to travel on? Are we each a traveler on one of an infinitely varied number of roads? With each road being a unique exploration of the evolving Universe of sound.

Why do we have to measure ourselves by some external standards of achievement? Is it not more enjoyable to simply let go and play.

Judgmental Behavior and Playing the Native American Style Flute

I was listening to a flute CD that someone had sent me. It was an exuberant, openhearted expression of pure joy. To the discerning – might I say critical – mind it did not conform to the established standards of ‘good music’. But it’s limitations in that respect was more than compensated for by its enthusiasm. The Native American style flute is helping to liberate many of us from our habit of evaluating and criticizing everything. Especially as this behavior applies to self-criticism.

Why can’t we just relax and have fun? Why are we so hard on ourselves? The culture of correctness and perfection has taken the fun out of life. Playing the flute or expressing our selves in any way must be based on freedom from fear of criticism, especially self-criticism. Otherwise we’re perpetually caught in the spot light. Everyone is looking. And if we don’t do it right there will be a price to pay. That price is self-respect. Holding ourselves up to impossible standards or other people’s standards means that we are always setting ourselves up to fail. We live under a dark cloud of our own creation. Actually, we didn’t create it.

It started when we were children. Constant criticism of our performance. We were always doing it wrong. Who doesn’t? Life is a learning process in which we must have the freedom to make mistakes without fear of criticism. Nobody gets if right all the time – or even most of the time. Practice, practice, practice - until we end up hating what we are doing. We may become good at it but we’re not having fun anymore. So what’s the point?

In tune? We can become so devoted to being in tune we’re dead to joy. Making a fetish out of playing it right is like wanting the sun to shine the same way every day. ‘That’s the way it should shine’ say the purists. Not too bright. Not too dull. Just this way and this way only. What if I like it a little brighter? What if I don’t care? Who dares set the standards for what is the right amount of sunlight for a sunny day?

When we whole-heartedly grant others the right to do it any way they please or are capable of we can be released from our own self-criticism. Life is a Circle of such diversity that there is room for everyone. Let the breath of life go out through your flute into a receptive world. You can change your life and the world one song at a time.

Musical Orthodoxy

Musical Orthodoxy or How I Find Freedom Through the Native American Style Flute

There are certain recognizable musical forms. We may call them songs or numbers or tunes. They are often repeated note for note and recorded. They may be very entertaining. Or catchy. We would like to play like that. Be good. Be recognized and admired. Why can’t I play like Scott August, or Peter Phippen or one of the other recognizable players. Those guys and women are great. I don’t play like them because they are professional musicians. They are schooled and by natural gift endowed with the ability to craft a tune that attracts and holds your attention. Some have made it their life’s work.

That is not who I am. I will never – excepting Devine intervention – play like that. Good for me. Now, having given up on fame and public acclaim I can just let my music be me. It’s not easy because it takes some effort to let go. I consciously let go of the critical and apprehensive aspect of my ego self. But, once I do that I find that I can make no mistakes. If a note is perceived to be not right, then if I let the next and then the following note flow out the flute. Then the mistake disappears. The mistake has become incorporated into the flow of notes coming through the flute. The perception of mistake was part of the self-criticism program of the ego. Dad said I was a screw up and I had no choice but to believe him. But, Dad’s not here any more. Now I am that critical voice. Putting myself down. The flute is teaching me that there is another way. I can forgive myself in the present. I ignore that voice and go on playing as if I had never heard it. I am OK. I can do it right. Dad was wrong. I don’t have to listen to him any more.

I know a professional Jazz drummer. Jazz is about improvisation. He told me that guys in the group make mistakes all the time. Everyone just covers for them and the music goes on. No one criticizes or cares. It’s not that way – about judgment or failure.. The audience never knew it. The note or beat disappears in time. The music goes on.

So the music is mine and Gods to share. If someone else is listening they can’t tell that there was a wrong note. They don’t know that I cringed in fear inside. They aren’t aware that I had made a mistake and was called on it. They may or may not like what I am playing. They may call it just a bunch of notes. However, I hear the song. And so does God. We know that we are doing just fine. Thanks you very much.

I have never set out to learn how to play. I have never taken a lesson. I’m just gratefully messing around with this little piece of wood. It tells me that I’m doing fine. That’s all I want to hear.

A Flute Journey

I stand in a clearing. It’s just an opening in the woods with a little sun light penetrating to the forest floor. Down the path in the direction we call the Future lies a larger meadow, filled with light. From that meadow you can see the mountains in the distance. The sky is clear and the mountaintops are covered with snow. That clearing is my death. On a day not many days away I will enter that meadow. I will look around lovingly at the beauty of a world that I walked for too short a time. I will take a long look back down the path we call the Past. I will lovingly revisit the events of my life. Events that struck me with all the weight of a reality that now seem somehow just a dream. I will take my flute out of its bag and play my last tune. In that song will be all the joy and pain that I encountered on the path. Love and loss. What a wonderful journey. And, when the last note sounds and it’s echo has faded into silence. I will leave.

I remember picking up my first Native American style flute. It was a crooked piece of river cane lying on a blanket on the ground. Isn’t it wonderful how things are arranged so that we get every thing we need at the perfect time and place. It’s as if some divine intelligence were orchestrating each event. Is it not so?

The sounds that came out of that flute were weak and breathy but for me they were a wondrous discovery. Music was coming out of a hollow tube. Moving my fingers changed the sounds. A space of relaxation and discovery began to open up inside me. I had no goal in mind. I wasn’t intent on learning anything. I felt no need to do it the right way or be good at it. And, I didn’t care what others might think of these sounds. What a relief.

The flute has been my companion ever since. A friend whose gentle voice has soothing powers. The flute has been the catalyst for so many wonderful people coming into my life. It has become my profession and the source of my sustenance. It has taught many lessons and I’m sure has more yet to impart.

Thank you all for sharing this wonderful path with me.

Follow the Flute

The song is constantly changing. Never completely different but never entirely the same. The song constantly finds new ways to express itself. Discovering new pathways of sound through the confusion of life. Pathways that are clearer by far than anything I have ever known. I would not want it to be any other way. If the tone is sharp or flat relative to some artificial standard – what do I care. How boring to be trying to be always the same. Let freedom ring and come out of the Native American style flute and reach every crevice of conventionality. Playing the song because it’s there to be done. Not measuring or judging according to some external yardstick. Knowing that every note is enough in all places and at all times. My song unique. And your song as well. Gently blowing forth notes into the unknown. Not expecting to hear it again – perhaps ever. Letting life unfold and music go out into it. Becoming part of the grand symphony of the Universe unfolding and discovering itself. And always finding itself to be good, sufficient, whole and happy. The music is saying that in spite of every dark cloud and feeling of pain there is I – the music – I heal all discomfort.

I play for the desert birds as they wake in the morning. I hear their reply. They are the great, indefatigable singers. My song joins theirs. The song that has been playing as long as there has been air to carry the sound.

Sunday in the morning. Two days after dead of Winter full moon. The Sun circle has turned. The Earth is coming back again out of the darkness of the once was and into the light of a new year. Night is waneing and Day is waxing. May this year bring blessing to all the Brothers and Sisters. May it bring Peace on Earth and good will towards all men. May our enemies become our friends. And may light and healing flow out through our music to a waiting world.