Illumination and Breakfast at Boogaloos

I've talked before about circlesinging (see the entry from Jan 4 of this year...my three-part series on the arts) before, and now I am going to do it again. 

The silly thing (and I may repeat myself - you may have read the last entry recently but for me it's been 10 months) about writing about singing is - well, just that.  Writing about singing is not at all the same as, say, listening to singing, or actually singing.  But it can produce some very compelling moments, and one thing I hope to do is share with you my compelling moments - mostly from the desire that the more of us who can read and share and know about compelling moments, the more we will collectively have and, you know, the better the world will be.

My group sings on the third Wednesday of every month, except for the big annual finale, which is always Dec 30 no matter what day of the week it falls on, which is when we sing from noon to midnight.  It's indescribable - I really must write about it in detail someday.  Now, November is also the busiest time of the year for my company - organic grocers love love love Thanksgiving; it's our high holy holiday, and this year I am semi in charge of (what else) communication, which as you might imagine, can be fast and furious during chaotically busy times.  My company is (lovingly) dysfunctional, so our holidays are like any other dysfunctional family's, except we make a lot of money so it's more fun and feels productive and exciting.  Like something is happening.  Anyway, I was so busy with work - work that, literally, hundreds if not thousands of people were waiting for, and by the end I was exhausted....and I had missed almost 30 min of the two-hour circlesing last night.

My dilemma: to go home (oh, sweet bed!) and just rest up, or drag my ass 10 minutes away and catch the last half of the circle.  The pull of both art and community won me over.  Community especially: I love these people; some of them are good friends, and all of them are musical partners.  Many of them, I've no idea of their name but I kind of know their soul and spirit.  It happens when you sing with a regular group for years.

So I went, and people were glad to see me.  I received hugs.  This is place where people hug you - you can expect it.  You can expect smiles and love and people saying they are happy to see you.  And you are happy to see them, genuinely.  One of *those* places: rare and wonderful.  I joined in.  The leader (of the circle, a fun-loving rhythmically bold bass) was happy to see me - we know each other. I belong.  I go there and all evidence points to it.  So, there's that - and that feels great. 

And then there's also the music.  The song, the melodies and harmonies, the getting it into your body, the movement, the rhythm.  The challenging parts (those ones when you're squinting at the others in your section, shaking your heads at each other, singing parts loud to each other, using hand gestures to keep everyone together, etc) and the easy parts that everyone just gets, and we all flow together.  The funny things that happen - not jokes, just moments, moments that aren't even funny if you describe them objectively, but are more like wonderful moments of spontaneous connection that produces joy.  The smiles across the circle.  The solos - oh, I love the solos.  (When a song - usually wordless or just rhythm-y words like "do" or "la" but way more inventive and varied - is established, the middle is left open for folks who want to step forward and solo, in the "mistake-free zone"; certainly, circlesing solos are one of the most life-affirming things I do on a regular basis).  This leader, B, left a  lot of room for solos, which was fun.

He was great at setting up bits that were doable yet complex enough to be interesting, and he also left plenty of room for *us* to make up our own parts; leaders and their styles vary widely - even one leader can vary from song to song...sometimes we're in intense, specific songs in which we can turn on a dime and stop with spine-tingling precision, and sometimes it's more loose and free and fun and wild.

B gave a us a lot of loose and fun and free and wild.  Oddly, there were not a ton of solos though the opportunities were *so* ripe - I myself went out early after getting there (I am a consistent soloist) and I don't usually ever solo twice in one session as I don't want to hog the time, or I'd have jumped out there lots.  But then someone just started dancing wildly in the middle of the circle, and then someone else did it, and another person.  Then B had us moving and walking in a circle as we sang, and then it somehow happened that part of the circle turned around, and we were walking past each other, like a marching band, or two gears, but we were singing, and laughing, and dancing as we filed past each other - or hugging, or touching hands - and everyone smiling. 

It sounds both kind of goofy and kind of stupid in text but in person, it was marvelous, magical, the thing everyone secretly yearns for.  If this were a movie, instead of a blog, you'd be crying (and laughing) right now, trust me.  There was even this one moment - sort of silly to try and convey, but we had a bouncing, omm-pah thing going on, and it reminded me of that old Budweiser commercial (you know, with all the draft horses, the Clydesdales pulling the wagon: "Here comes the king, here comes the King of all Beers") and so I ran up behind the leader and sang, "I love the men, I love the men who sing low; I wish they'd follow me wherever I go" in the same tune, and it was really funny, and then the leader followed me back when I re-joined the circle and everyone laughed so hard we couldn't even keep the song going and that has never happened before because part of the beautiful thing of the circle is even if you personally lose it - even if a whole group loses it - others are holding it together and so it's very strong and...

Never mind.  You had to be there.

And I *was* there, and I drove home feeling very happy.  Happy to be alive.  I sang in the car on the way home (because once you get going, it's hard to stop singing) and the lyrics - all very clever - were just pouring out of me, although, sadly, they went uncaptured and therefore were unrepeatable/unrememberable.  (A downside of spontaneity is its total lack of repeatability.)  I knew it had been a great session, but it didn't seem especially transforming.  It was a lot of deep, human, pure, divine fun, nothing more.

But then this morning, I woke up, having slept enough (yay!), and decided to go in a little later (say, ten, since I've been working until six or seven every night anyway), so I went to breakfast at Boogaloo's, my favorite breakfast place and almost my favorite restaurant.  It's extremely crowded on weekends and later in the day, but 8:30am Thursday morning is no problem.  It was a slow day even for them, although there were plenty of interesting people (Boogaloos is slightly hip, and they always play good music); I took my seat, ordered, started reading my New Yorker.  They were playing The Beatles, whom I have recently been getting into.  The vibe was good.  The meal came - it was good. Their potatoes are outstanding. 

Yes, I caught myself thinking, behind the noise of the Beatles and the New Yorker and the conversation of the patrons and servers, yes, I have a pretty good life.  I get to go to breakfast on a fairly regular basis because my shifts are flexible, but I've always thought of it as an exception.  Like, I wish I had a life where I could do this all the time.  Look at those other people, I usually think.  That guy in the stripped sweater and white afro. The young student couple.  The street artists and programmers who are also street artists and the artisan coffee brewers.  Look at them, carefree and easy with their morning breakfasts, meeting friends or sketching designs.  How I wish I could be like them.

And then it occurred to me: I *am* like them.  I am here.  I am here often enough - or could be, even when I don't actually go, conceptually I have some freedom in my work life - that I am in fact living the life I wish I could be living. 

And then it occurred to me: it's the comparisons to other people that I constantly make in my head which is fucking things up.  How far could I get if I stopped doing that?  How happy might I be if I just got rid of the idea of "comparison" altogether and replaced it with "inspiration"?  How pleasant would, say, boarding schools or Hollywood or business be if we all focused on inspiration rather than comparison, which is a form of competition, which is really a form of aggression, which is a form of fear.

Mind you, I was not really aware of everything that was passing through my brain - because it was part of the whole thing: the potatoes, the New Yorker, the Beatles, the mood, the weather, the other patrons.  But gradually I was aware of something happening to me.  I looked out the window and a woman was walking by with her purse handles draped over her forehead like a headband and it was oddly reminiscent of Biblical figures with jars on their heads, trekking to the waterhole, and that seemed beautiful.  Wow, I thought.

Then I looked at the Social Security Building across the street where people line up in the early morning on Fridays (today was just a few scattered folks), and that seemed beautiful too.

Then I heard the guy next to me ordering tomatoes with his breakfast (in his omelet?  With his eggs?  Who knows and it didn't matter), and that was beautiful too. 

And the Beatles's Hey Jude started playing, and that was so beautiful, I started to cry.  Then it was all beautiful.  It was all exactly as it should be. It was all perfect.  I thought of my mother, and my job, and my partner, and all the art all over the city I lived in because some of it was on the walls right next to me, and I was almost overwhelmed with a sense of profound and perfect....universe, I guess.  Existence.  The Whole Thing.  I looked outside, I looked around, I put down the New Yorker, and I put down the forkful of potatoes, and I felt - I knew - I had entered a state of grace.

I know because I have been there before, and it's immediately recognizable - and also, the universe - my own personal mythic story - made sure I wouldn't miss it, because the last time I was in a state of grace like this was another, different time I'd had breakfast at Boogaloos, after the 12-hour Sing For Your Life last Dec 30.  I was in a state of grace on New Year's Eve, 2010.  I remember it very well; it made a deep impression.

Eventually, Hey Jude ended.  The guy ordering tomatoes was now talking with his companion.  The Social Security Office was now open.  I paid the check. I over tipped the waitress.  I knew I needed to check my email on my iPhone.  And the moment had passed.

That's it.  That's my story of my recent compelling moment.  Do with it what you will.