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.