The Summer rolls into its heat on this lazy, post-July 4, semi-holidaic Monday. It’s relaxed, a bit sticky, and I’m not getting antsy about not practicing. So much to contemplate in a Summer in limbo; distances, time passing by, music, Amina . . . . Shiho.
I miss the heat and humidity of Japan; the feel, the atmosphere, the nuances. I remember so much of so many of the things I did there. My big mistake was to rely on family. Wretched family. In the States, I always feel on the fringes, in the margins, like I’m hiding myself. In Japan, I felt like a part of something in Japan; I don’t know why, I’m not sure how. Japan has made such an imprint in my memory.
Inspiration escapes me. Connecting it to creativity isn’t even an issue. I’m just practicing, nailing down the basics. There was an impromptu “They Might Be Asians” reunion at Commencement this year. Ken was back for friends, I was here with Amina, and Jim and Art are graduating. It was great playing live, there’s nothing like that charge of interacting with other musicians and having an audience.
I finished reading the Lotus Sutra and it was amazing. I need to read it again. The last time I was in New York, I found a companion to the edition that I have. The companion is kind of anemic, not at all comprehensive, but maybe that’s the point. If it goes into too much detail, it might lose the intuitive aspect of the experience of Buddhism or religion in general. I tried starting to read the Q’uran, but that’s a whole different ballgame. It’s a lot more difficult and inaccessible. I hope at some point I can read it when I’m more familiar with Islam.
