I just saw my first concert since I moved back to New York. Impromptu. Free. All the right ingredients.
All I had planned to do when I left the apartment was to buy a USB connector for my camera's memory card so I could finally load a couple months worth of photos onto my computer. Afterward I decided to get some exercise and wander up Broadway until I got tired and wanted to take the train the rest of the way.
I realized quickly that I had never really given the Lincoln Center a close look, so I checked out the area around the Symphony Hall, Opera and Ballet. I was ecstatic to learn that there is a virtuoso who will be playing Bach and Beethoven next month, and that the symphony will be playing Beethoven's 9th in early April. I used my camera to take photos of several advertisements for upcoming performances, and then continued on my way. I began thinking about how nice it would be to see a concert sooner than later, but they're all so expensive, so I would have to wait another month or two. That honestly got me thinking about India, and the time I was in Varanasi and got treated to a free private sitar and tabla concert by two young guys my age. Back then I'd been wandering around when a young boy started following me around and offering to hook me up with various deals. He eventually took me to an instrument shop. I couldn't afford anything and couldn't play anything, but the owners told me they would be playing a free private show that night, so I came back and had an excellent time sitting on the floor and listening to the sitar and tabla. I didn't have anything to offer them myself, but I did have an iPod with Beatles songs that used the sitar. So I let them listen to "Love You To," "Within You, Without You," and "Tomorrow Never Knows," and they were completely blown away. They had never seen an iPod before either.
I snapped back to the present time and realized that these symphony orchestras wouldn't be as easily amused by my iPod, and it would cost me a lot more money to see them live. I continued walking up Broadway to get a taste of what separated me from Lincoln Center and Columbus Circle. I can see Broadway from my window right now as I type this, but it's a little different up in Harlem, about seventy blocks north of Lincoln Center.
I was in a good mood and had some great tunes going, so I kept turning down the implicit offers of each subway entrance and marching north. Eventually I reached 94th street, where there was an entrance to the 96th street station. I was listening to a great Radiohead song at the time--as part of a 1990's chronological playlist I made a few years ago, filled with plenty of depressing alternative rock songs representative of my youth's culture--so I decided to at least walk up to the real 96th street entrance so I could complete the song above ground. It was there that I decided I might as well continue on to 103rd street, but I crossed the road toward the subway entrance anyway. While waiting for the walk sign I noticed a building on the corner called "Symphony Space." That fit the new theme of the night, but it involved another crossing, south, and for some reason I didn't want to double back, even a few feet. Luckily, the voice of reason in my head said I was there then, so I should look at it then instead of later. It turned out to be a space for many forms of entertainment, including theater, film, literature readings and music. I even saw a poster for a living legend sitar player and a famous tabla player. I smiled at the synchronicity with my thoughts earlier in the walk, and peaked my head inside the lobby to read a different poster. As I did so I noticed a sign on the door that expressed profound apologies that the sitar player was sick and could not come that night. I shrugged and turned around to head back home.
At that moment a man began talking to me, so I took off my headphones. He said he had a free ticket to the show that night. It was for the sitar player. "Free?" I asked.
He smiled and said, "Free."
I looked at the ticket. $30 value. "How long is the show?" I was pretty hungry, and had planned to go home to cook.
"A few hours," he smiled. "It's an extra ticket. I saw you looking around and thought you might like it." A free ticket is a free ticket.
"Thank you!" I said, accepted the ticket, and went inside, where I was escorted by an assembly line of five ushers, the last of which walked me to my seat in the 8th row, center aisle. It was a fairly big auditorium, and there was a woman on the stage giving a lengthy explanation for the sitar player's absence. Luckily, his son was able to come in his place. It was all the same to me.
Then I enjoyed 75 minutes of being time traveled back to India and reliving all of my experiences during my two month journey four years ago. I saw the chaotic streets of New Delhi, what I sincerely hope is the worst poverty in existence, Omar's small shop and apartment with no furniture, the Taj Mahal, the Ganges River, the instrument store with the private concert, the holy man, the Himalaya, the hotel room where I was sick, the rock bed and the monkeys, the beaches, the motorbike rides, the canal boat rides, watching American movies with Israelis on hotel television channels, dancing barefoot around pyramid shaped temples, debating an American about whether or not the world is a good place and whether or not God hates us while sitting in the Madurai temple complex, watching the full moon rise during a 30 hour train ride, giving my $5 blanket (covered in smiling bear faces, now that I recall) to a homeless mother in Calcutta during my last night in the country because it meant nothing to me but everything to them, being chased by desperate beggars wherever I went, the street children who I will not describe right now, the friendly auto rickshaw drivers and the angry auto rickshaw drivers, the old-fashioned rickshaw pedalers, the touts, the countryside, the pollution, the other travelers, the mountains of garbage alongside the train tracks that accompanied the trains wherever they went, the Brahman and the Atman unifying and underlying all existence, and a giant elephant in a parade in Varanasi, slowing down traffic as a seeming road block while simultaneously removing my writer's block. I don't know what the originally scheduled sitar player could do, but his son was the real deal.
It was just another walk, and I was on my way somewhere else, when a stranger handed me a golden ticket...
"Because spirit is on the move, constantly creating your life from the invisible source of all life, you must be alert every moment to understand its ways. Sometimes clues hit like a bolt from the blue, sometimes they cross your path as silently as a cat stalking in the predawn light, sometimes they smile and deliver a shiver of bliss. The great joy of crossing into the wizard’s world is that the whole world comes alive. Nothing is dead or inert anymore, because the least thing can serve as a clue to the great search for who you really are. “Respect your mystery. Nothing is more profound,” Merlin said. “But pursue it ruthlessly, trying to rip the veil away at every second. This is what makes life rich, that is has more to offer with each clue it reveals." (Chopra 121)
All I had planned to do when I left the apartment was to buy a USB connector for my camera's memory card so I could finally load a couple months worth of photos onto my computer. Afterward I decided to get some exercise and wander up Broadway until I got tired and wanted to take the train the rest of the way.
I realized quickly that I had never really given the Lincoln Center a close look, so I checked out the area around the Symphony Hall, Opera and Ballet. I was ecstatic to learn that there is a virtuoso who will be playing Bach and Beethoven next month, and that the symphony will be playing Beethoven's 9th in early April. I used my camera to take photos of several advertisements for upcoming performances, and then continued on my way. I began thinking about how nice it would be to see a concert sooner than later, but they're all so expensive, so I would have to wait another month or two. That honestly got me thinking about India, and the time I was in Varanasi and got treated to a free private sitar and tabla concert by two young guys my age. Back then I'd been wandering around when a young boy started following me around and offering to hook me up with various deals. He eventually took me to an instrument shop. I couldn't afford anything and couldn't play anything, but the owners told me they would be playing a free private show that night, so I came back and had an excellent time sitting on the floor and listening to the sitar and tabla. I didn't have anything to offer them myself, but I did have an iPod with Beatles songs that used the sitar. So I let them listen to "Love You To," "Within You, Without You," and "Tomorrow Never Knows," and they were completely blown away. They had never seen an iPod before either.
I snapped back to the present time and realized that these symphony orchestras wouldn't be as easily amused by my iPod, and it would cost me a lot more money to see them live. I continued walking up Broadway to get a taste of what separated me from Lincoln Center and Columbus Circle. I can see Broadway from my window right now as I type this, but it's a little different up in Harlem, about seventy blocks north of Lincoln Center.
I was in a good mood and had some great tunes going, so I kept turning down the implicit offers of each subway entrance and marching north. Eventually I reached 94th street, where there was an entrance to the 96th street station. I was listening to a great Radiohead song at the time--as part of a 1990's chronological playlist I made a few years ago, filled with plenty of depressing alternative rock songs representative of my youth's culture--so I decided to at least walk up to the real 96th street entrance so I could complete the song above ground. It was there that I decided I might as well continue on to 103rd street, but I crossed the road toward the subway entrance anyway. While waiting for the walk sign I noticed a building on the corner called "Symphony Space." That fit the new theme of the night, but it involved another crossing, south, and for some reason I didn't want to double back, even a few feet. Luckily, the voice of reason in my head said I was there then, so I should look at it then instead of later. It turned out to be a space for many forms of entertainment, including theater, film, literature readings and music. I even saw a poster for a living legend sitar player and a famous tabla player. I smiled at the synchronicity with my thoughts earlier in the walk, and peaked my head inside the lobby to read a different poster. As I did so I noticed a sign on the door that expressed profound apologies that the sitar player was sick and could not come that night. I shrugged and turned around to head back home.
At that moment a man began talking to me, so I took off my headphones. He said he had a free ticket to the show that night. It was for the sitar player. "Free?" I asked.
He smiled and said, "Free."
I looked at the ticket. $30 value. "How long is the show?" I was pretty hungry, and had planned to go home to cook.
"A few hours," he smiled. "It's an extra ticket. I saw you looking around and thought you might like it." A free ticket is a free ticket.
"Thank you!" I said, accepted the ticket, and went inside, where I was escorted by an assembly line of five ushers, the last of which walked me to my seat in the 8th row, center aisle. It was a fairly big auditorium, and there was a woman on the stage giving a lengthy explanation for the sitar player's absence. Luckily, his son was able to come in his place. It was all the same to me.
Then I enjoyed 75 minutes of being time traveled back to India and reliving all of my experiences during my two month journey four years ago. I saw the chaotic streets of New Delhi, what I sincerely hope is the worst poverty in existence, Omar's small shop and apartment with no furniture, the Taj Mahal, the Ganges River, the instrument store with the private concert, the holy man, the Himalaya, the hotel room where I was sick, the rock bed and the monkeys, the beaches, the motorbike rides, the canal boat rides, watching American movies with Israelis on hotel television channels, dancing barefoot around pyramid shaped temples, debating an American about whether or not the world is a good place and whether or not God hates us while sitting in the Madurai temple complex, watching the full moon rise during a 30 hour train ride, giving my $5 blanket (covered in smiling bear faces, now that I recall) to a homeless mother in Calcutta during my last night in the country because it meant nothing to me but everything to them, being chased by desperate beggars wherever I went, the street children who I will not describe right now, the friendly auto rickshaw drivers and the angry auto rickshaw drivers, the old-fashioned rickshaw pedalers, the touts, the countryside, the pollution, the other travelers, the mountains of garbage alongside the train tracks that accompanied the trains wherever they went, the Brahman and the Atman unifying and underlying all existence, and a giant elephant in a parade in Varanasi, slowing down traffic as a seeming road block while simultaneously removing my writer's block. I don't know what the originally scheduled sitar player could do, but his son was the real deal.
It was just another walk, and I was on my way somewhere else, when a stranger handed me a golden ticket...
Okay, this is beautiful. I just went on facebook and the first thing on my news feed is from The Flaming Lips saying, "In case you missed Wayne in NYC today, you can still meet him tomorrow at Newbury Comics - Newbury Street Boston Store in Boston, Monday at a.k.a. music in Philly, and Tuesday at The Sound Garden in Baltimore!"
My first thought: I could have met Wayne Coyne today! AHHHHHH! Where were you five days ago, you stupid ad! But wait. I read the link explaining the story, and it's even crazier, because while I was reading I was also listening to the same "Lucky Charlie" song above from Willy Wonka, and it said the following:
My first thought: I could have met Wayne Coyne today! AHHHHHH! Where were you five days ago, you stupid ad! But wait. I read the link explaining the story, and it's even crazier, because while I was reading I was also listening to the same "Lucky Charlie" song above from Willy Wonka, and it said the following:
http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/wayne-coyne-will-sell-you-chocolate-skulls-on-new-tour-20140203
February 3, 2014 5:35 PM ET
This past December, Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne went on a short solo tour across
America's record stores, where he sold early Lips reissues packaged
inside a chocolate skull. The tour must've resonated, because he's
announced a quick East Coast run next week starting at New York City's
Other Music on February 8th. The candy package also has a Willy Wonka
spin: Packaged inside will be "special Golden coins" that offer entrance
to any of the Lips' headlining gigs.
The timing is too perfect for me to be bummed at the timing for not letting me meet Wayne Coyne today.
This calls for one more song:
"Seekers
are never lost, because spirit is always beckoning to them.
Seekers are offered clues all the time from the
world of spirit. Ordinary people call
these clues coincidences.
To a wizard there are no coincidences. Every event exists to expose another layer of
the soul.
Spirit wants to meet you. To accept its invitation, you must be
undefended.
When you seek, begin in your heart. The cave of the heart is the home of truth." (Chopra 116)
"Because spirit is on the move, constantly creating your life from the invisible source of all life, you must be alert every moment to understand its ways. Sometimes clues hit like a bolt from the blue, sometimes they cross your path as silently as a cat stalking in the predawn light, sometimes they smile and deliver a shiver of bliss. The great joy of crossing into the wizard’s world is that the whole world comes alive. Nothing is dead or inert anymore, because the least thing can serve as a clue to the great search for who you really are. “Respect your mystery. Nothing is more profound,” Merlin said. “But pursue it ruthlessly, trying to rip the veil away at every second. This is what makes life rich, that is has more to offer with each clue it reveals." (Chopra 121)
Excerpts from Deepak Chopra's The Way of the Wizard.
Rider, London, England: 1995. I bought that book in Dublin, Ireland, at the end of a journey that began in India.
I saw this ad in a men's room in northern California after the harvest party:
No comments:
Post a Comment