On Tuesday I finally bought a ticket to Dylan. I always had this rule against it, because I had such a fantastic perception of his heyday that I didn't want to see him as an old man who could barely sing. The Youtube videos a decade ago hadn't been promising. But then I realized, well of course he can't sing the same way, he's in his 70's. He always had a strange voice anyway. That was one of his rustic strengths. And after listening to lots of jazz and improvisational rock music over the years, I realized that the best artists are constantly innovating their styles, so who cares if it sounds different than the record. Thus, I got a ticket.
Then on Wednesday, social media reminded me that I had posted the conclusion to his epic poem "Last Thought on Woody Guthrie" on that same date some years ago.
On Thursday I saw the show, 9 years after I had a bonfire with my family, watched the embers glowing in the shape of a pyramid, talked with my dad about his adventures up in the Arctic Circle around when I was born, and then stayed up all night because I'd secretly taken a very small amount of acid and simply couldn't fall asleep. I definitely listened to Mr. Tambourine Man (live) as the final song before I left on my journey the next day.
Whereas I was glowing during the show last night, I got pretty down afterward, mostly because I was really hungry and tired. But there's been drama at work that I wish I didn't have to hear about, and on top of that is the cyclical recurring feeling that although there aren't really many tangible consequences (although sometimes there are), I don't feel very appreciated for my contributions in various areas of life, which is a feeling I don't like having, as I prefer to count my blessings. That's one of the main battles of life: learning when to sacrifice and when to take your stand. Relationships, living situations, work. I've always been in it for the interactions with people, the love of language, and the training/skills I get from teaching what I know. Yet sometimes one wonders that nobody would really notice or care if you weren't there. I know that isn't completely true, but it still gets to me from time to time. Even so, I enjoy this way in which the universe has enabled me to serve somebody thus far. There is more to come.
The finer details of the drama aren't important. What is important is that I was able to come home, put on "Last Thought on Woody Guthrie," and remember why I was teetering on the edge of a snowy cliff in Zion eight years ago, and why I should still be infinitely thankful that gravity, the way of the universe and my own will power didn't allow me to slip and let go.
Once I catch up on sleep, I hope to feel enthusiasm for the new printer I'm picking up soon, and the ensuing printing that is to come.
Then on Wednesday, social media reminded me that I had posted the conclusion to his epic poem "Last Thought on Woody Guthrie" on that same date some years ago.
On Thursday I saw the show, 9 years after I had a bonfire with my family, watched the embers glowing in the shape of a pyramid, talked with my dad about his adventures up in the Arctic Circle around when I was born, and then stayed up all night because I'd secretly taken a very small amount of acid and simply couldn't fall asleep. I definitely listened to Mr. Tambourine Man (live) as the final song before I left on my journey the next day.
Whereas I was glowing during the show last night, I got pretty down afterward, mostly because I was really hungry and tired. But there's been drama at work that I wish I didn't have to hear about, and on top of that is the cyclical recurring feeling that although there aren't really many tangible consequences (although sometimes there are), I don't feel very appreciated for my contributions in various areas of life, which is a feeling I don't like having, as I prefer to count my blessings. That's one of the main battles of life: learning when to sacrifice and when to take your stand. Relationships, living situations, work. I've always been in it for the interactions with people, the love of language, and the training/skills I get from teaching what I know. Yet sometimes one wonders that nobody would really notice or care if you weren't there. I know that isn't completely true, but it still gets to me from time to time. Even so, I enjoy this way in which the universe has enabled me to serve somebody thus far. There is more to come.
The finer details of the drama aren't important. What is important is that I was able to come home, put on "Last Thought on Woody Guthrie," and remember why I was teetering on the edge of a snowy cliff in Zion eight years ago, and why I should still be infinitely thankful that gravity, the way of the universe and my own will power didn't allow me to slip and let go.
Once I catch up on sleep, I hope to feel enthusiasm for the new printer I'm picking up soon, and the ensuing printing that is to come.
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