Sometimes in the Archives, I’ll let pictures speak their thousand. Pause on words and share an image.
And then, once in a while, a song finds its way to my ears and takes me down in a humble bow to the power of sound. In this place, beyond the mind, there is only feeling. Where every cell is plucked to quiver in remembrance. Where connection is not a concept, but an experience.
Yesterday, a monotonous project on the computer was transformed by the music of Ben Howard. I stumbled across a KCRW studio session of him performing “Depth Over Distance” and suddenly, there was more at hand than Quickbooks accounting. Life breathed new through song.
Music is medicine. Here’s a swig of the sonic elixir.
Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedJessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedJessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedJessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedJessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedJessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedJessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved
On the shortest day of the year, we spend time wandering the seaside village. Sidewalks with dogs on leashes. Driftwood, rock piles and bright flowers in salted sunshine.
My sister’s patience conjures awe as she navigates 2 three year-olds through cinnamon sticky buns and waving sticks that mimic power tools. I’d forgotten this age, and it seems Jeb has too, as he watches, puzzled, at their antics, my index finger through the belt loop of small jeans that are kneeling over the edge of the river.
We leave Santa Cruz County by 2 and the sun is already tilting to set. Back to scanning the radio dial. We’re in Fresno County on Highway 99 by dusk, and have returned to the radio scan where one can choose from Christmas songs done Mariachi style on 5 different stations or country-style ala KJUG. Or one can just listen to a reading from the Bible.
Jeb reaches one finger toward the power button of the radio dial, his eyebrows lifted in my direction. “Is it just better this way?”
He means “off”. I say “yes.”
Silence and the sun melt with hazy sky to make a pink soup of cotton candy. Leftover french fries sit in the Burger King bag between us. Headlights on the semis move colors on the highway. Winter Solstice and we’re just going to keep getting closer to the light.
Maybe nothing except that they are each peeking into my world these days. And I’m trying to understand.
Dr. Paul Pimsleur
Dr. Pimsleur – well, look at that raised eyebrow. It seems he knows something (and he just might be willing to share what that something is). Linguistically, at least. His well-known method of teaching foreign languages relies on several principles, one of which is “organic learning.” That is, all auditory. No writing.
So this ‘writer’ (that would be loosely referring to me) is now officially complete with Unit 1 of Pimsleur’s “Basic Czech” course. Yes, for this present Now, Eckhart Tolle has been replaced in my Toyota by “Jste Američan“?
Yes, I am American. And this language thing is slow going. Don’t think finishing Unit 1 was much of an accomplishment. I basically learned to say whether I do or do not understand.
Enter Forefather Čech, which is the title Wikipedia gives the man who was one of three brothers that each founded a Slavic nation. Cech chose Říp Mountain and a land that came to be known as Bohemia (currently the Czech Republic). The mother tongue of that land has about 12 million native speakers. I, of course, am not one of them. But according to Dr. Pimsleur, since my completion of Unit 1 (and I if I was able to grasp about 80% of the material) then “Trochu rozumím český“. I understand Czech a little.
Cech
Which leads me to Robert Nesta, a.k.a. Bob Marley. His lyrics are universal and transcend all language. And through the words of his songs, one can also become acquainted with what is deemed “Iyaric“, “Livalect” or “Dread-talk.” Basically, a dialect of English used by Rastafarians. And these days, while I’m trying to understand more than just a brand new language – let’s just go for the entire meaning of life – I reach to Bob’s poignant question in Rainbow Country.
Bob Marley
Hey Mr. Music Ya sure sound good to me I can’t refuse it What got to be, got to be
Feel like dancing Dance cause we are free
I got my home In the promise land But I feel at home Can you overstand
It’s been 20 years of humming along to the word “overstanding” and for the first time I read Wikipedia’s definition of the term.
“Overstanding (also ‘innerstanding’) replaces ‘understanding’, referring to enlightenment that raises one’s consciousness.”
Leaning on the Rastas, I’ll say that perhaps I am livicating (that’s ridding the “dead” from your dedication) my life to overstanding.
Ok. So…
Rastafarian translation. Check.
Bohemian promised land. Check.
Pimsleur’s Czech 101. Check. (oh, such a bad pun I couldn’t resist).
I’ve got some tools and resources as I seek this innerstanding.
I’m on the highway. My Pimsleur disc plays out the conversation between a man and woman.
“Rozumite.”
Do you understand?
“Ano. Trochu rozumím.”
Yes. I understand a little.
But really, I overstand so very little. It’s all so mysterious that the only way I can cope is to simply lean into this void of a question mark. It’s just one big shoulder shrug. Beautiful in some crazy way.
Maybe in this uncertainty, the miracles can occur. Something coming from nothing.
What words come in describing this journey to overstanding? Might as well try some fresh phrases of affirmation.
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