I just played didgeridoo with an incredible group of folks on Friday night. Together we went so deep and meditated together in effortless bliss for just shy of two hours – the sounds of the didgeridoo and the simple wisdom that we are NEVER separate from Source guided us into a shared experience of deep peace, transformation, and embodied bliss.
I was reminded of a piece I wrote a couple years back on the healing power of forgiveness, acceptance, and being willing to open our hearts – this all happened in the context of playing the didgeridoo and a subsequent “miracle” that took place.
Our next didgeridoo meditation will be July 21st – I heard from a number of people that they wanted to go but waited too long and when they went to register it was sold out, so when they are announced – especially here in metro Charlotte, GET ON IT!
July 21st – Sunday 2pm-4pm at Lotus Living Arts Studio of Concord. Its a sweet studio with awesome acoustics. www.lotuslivingartsstudio.com is the website. This one does not have pre-registration, so just show up a bit early.
Enjoy the Blog! Its below the line here –
I am back in Charlotte now. The cicadas are blasting in my backyard. I just drove back from Asheville. I was going to just chill and not write this note. Plus, writing implies visibility and vulnerability. But I gotta tell this story. It was a miracle in the park. A miracle moment of healing, and of forgiveness. Of being the immense We of unbounded Consciousness. Of watching the mind melt from story and picture into pure love, devotion, and connection. Stay with me a moment, let me paint you a picture. Let me write the song here. Let me tell you of the man with the Swastika tattoo that taught me about Love. That showed me Unbounded Consciousness. The man with the teardrop tattoo who was an unlikely teacher of Love. The man who helped me Re-member the Master’s words: “Whatever you do to the least of me….”
I was in the park with my dear friend Corey Costanzo. He is my didgeridoo teacher and we were jamming together. As we played, the sounds from the didgeridoo pulsated into the warm sunny air. Sunlight bounced off my shirtless skin just like the shimmering leaves in the trees. Children danced and played in the fountains across the park. The massive and old, so very old, mountains stared back at me with their immensity. Their patience. Their knowing. Their green strength. Their blue aura. The clear blue sky a mirror of infinity. Didgeridoos pulsing, droning, humming, screaming. The Breath of the breath moving through us. Through the plants that gave themselves to us as instruments.
Let me back up a few hours.
That morning I went to the basilica of St. Lawrence, where I love to pray before the beautiful statue of Jesus. I said a very simple prayer I say always. “Use me. Be me. I am an instrument of peace. Use me. Be me. Illumine me. Let me be Your hands, Your voice, Your eyes. Use me. Be me.” I talk to Jesus as a Friend. Not as a christian in any way shape or form. I can’t relate to religion. I can relate to love. And not because I am supposed to. But because He is my Teacher of Love. Of seeing what is real. Of Seeing. Period.
As I walked through Asheville, I connected to my dear soul Friend St. Francis. “Live your devotion in me. Make me an instrument of your peace. I am an instrument of peace.” Every encounter, another moment to practice, practice, practice, practice.” St. Francis would oft appear in my dreams when I was a teenager. I love him dearly, too.
So back to the park. I surrender my didgeridoo playing to Spirit. That the didg simply becomes a literally instrument of breath, a literal instrument of healing vibrations. We are jamming. Beautiful. My skin smells of sun. The grass on my feet enlivens me. Deeper, deeper, deeper. The vibes take us deeper. Then we stop. Then we start again. We talk. We play. Dance of breath, dance of Spirit. Effortless. FUN!
Corey’s daughter is 2. She wants to go play in the fountains. I keep playing. Then the man comes. He stands in front of me. His eyes glazed. I don’t see him – I see his swastika tattoo. I see that teardrop tattoo. I see his shaking hands. The pallor of his skin. My body tightens. There is a me, and there is a him. We are so different. I with my didgeridoo and the prayers I said and my good intentions and my knowledge of social inequity and my degrees. Him with his tattoos that symbolize hate and gangs and death. 2 of us. Separate. Constriction. Then his eyes soften. He looks into mine. I look into his. He asks me a question. The years of longing quiver through his vocal chords. The nights of darkness of lonlieness and hurt shake his throat. My defenses begin to drop. I have known orphan-hood, too. I have known dark nights. I have known rage. I see something in his eyes change. His heart begins to speak with my heart.
He asks me, “What is that instrument?” “It is a didgerdioo,” I reply. “Is that a spiritual instrument?” He asks. Not sure how what to say because I am still in my mind seeing 2 of us, I give him the history of the instrument as the oldest wood instrument in the world, that it was used by the Aborigines of Australia for eons to tell stories and to connect with the Spirit. So, yes, I tell him, it was a spiritual instrument for them. 2 of us. My thoughts speaking to him. My heart feeling apart from. Separate. So, I will think. I will build a wall with my thoughts. I will not show him who I am am.
“Yeah, but what about for you, is it Spiritual for you?” Now, he has got me. Will I surrender? Will I surrender into the Christ shining through his eyes? Will I join with my brother. Will I forgive him and me for the illusion of separation? Will I make this a Holy Instant? I will. Something shifts. Being happens. Love happens. “It is. This is one way in which I completely connect to Spirit. This is one way I pray. For me, nothing isn’t spiritual, and everything is spiritual because that What we are. I guess nothing else really exists.”
He looks at me, smiling. His neck and shoulders softened, his forehead glowing. “Yeah,” he says, “When I heard those vibrations, it sounded so very spiritual. It got me. It sounded so healing. Can I hear it again? Can you play for me so I can hear Spirit in it? I can I hear the Spirit of that instrument?” I reply, “Of course, my brother. My I play it over you, over your body?” “YES!” he exclaims.
I point the didgeridoo towards him – it becomes the bridge of our hearts – and begin to let the Breath of the breath play him and I together in this beautiful dance of Shiva – the destruction of separation and the creation of the miracle of joining. I modulate the tones and the frequencies to match his body and energy. I play over his heart chanting some sacred Names of the Divine through the didgeridoo where they emerge in a vibrational dance, unrecognizable to the mind, but completely recognizable to the Heart. His body shifts. Softens. Opens. His eyes shine kindness. Boundless heart. One heart. The same blood. Thoughts simply merge into the feeling sense of the pulsating moment. The moment of genesis. The Instant of embodied holiness. Together. An unlikely pair merging into the One.
The swastika may have still been tattooed on his neck, yet in that moment he and Spirit tattooed my heart forever. Tattooed was the Reality that Spirit is constantly wanting to live through me, as me, as us, into the grand immense We. Tattooed on my heart was the signature of my unlikely friend who showed me the Christ that is in all of us, as us. Tattooed on my heart was a profound softness, a deep pool of compassion for the parts of all of us that have strayed, that have been orphaned, that have walked alone. And that neither he, nor I, need walk alone anymore.
Thank you, my brother. Thank you Spirit. Thank you St. Francis. Thank you St. Theresa (of Avila).Thank you Jesus.
St. Theresa says it so well: ” Remember, if you want to make progress on the path and ascend to the places you have longed for, the important thing is not to think much but to LOVE MUCH, and so to do WHATEVER best awakens you to Love.”
St. Francis – “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace…that where there is hatred, let me sow peace, that where their is despair, hope, that where their is darkness, light”
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, to whom I owe so much gratitude, says, ”
“How simple it is to love, but how exhausting it is to find fault: for every time we see a fault we think something needs to be done about it. Love knows that nothing is ever needed but more love. It is what we do with out hearts, not the actions of our body or the words of our mind, that affects others most deeply and transmits love. We love from heart to heart.”
And so it is, an ordinary day in the mountains. An ordinary miracle. Pointing me, my brother, and all of us, to the extraordinary nature of this very Life we we live. To the miracles of love that surround us always, all ways, in every moment.