Words, Songs, Dreams, and Deliverance

A meditation on a biopic of Bruce Springsteen, the emptiness of a yoga class, dog kisses, and the meaning of life.

I woke up before dawn this morning and resisted the impulse to stay in bed, snuggled up with my sweet girlfriend Lisa and our miracle of a puppy Bodhi. The autumn winds were rustling leaves outside our window. I had a yoga class to teach.

Last night we went to see the new Bruce Springsteen biopic, Springsteen: Deliver me from Nowhere. It is a dark and brooding movie about a man struggling to make sense of his past. He returns to his hometown to write some new songs, and finds his soul is haunted by ghosts and demons. It is a Halloween movie for those of us who don’t like blood and gore. Lisa and I were up late.

The morning comes too soon. I teach a 7 a.m. class at Weaverville Yoga called “Bhakti Flow”. I recently extended the class time from 60 to 75 minutes so that I could offer some chanting at the beginning of class.

Today no one came. Our classes live stream so I stay and teach even when no one is there. At 7 a.m. I hit record and sat with my legs crossed, playing my harmonium and chanting mantras. The room echoed with the sounds, each moment of vibration lingering, gently pushing me forward into the river of time.

The movie sat there with me. Deliver Me features lots of black and white scenes flashing back to Bruce’s childhood. His father a mix of sweet and abusive, fearful and beloved. The father and son relationship is often fraught. My own memories of childhood are similarly a monotone ridgeline of mountains and forests I can’t see into or beyond. As far as I remember, my father was a good man. My traumas are hidden by the trees and vines left to grow wild in my psyche.

There was a cameo in the movie by Marc Maron, whose WTF podcast kept me company for many years of long drives and lonesome subway rides. Another man with a difficult relationship to his dad. He comforted me with his rational liberalism while my own mother was carried off by lunatics into the MAGA world. I listened to his heartfelt insights while my co-worker listened to episodes of angry Libertarian podcasts. At times I would take my headphones off to hear those disembodied voices saying things that I know aren’t true, making caricatures of people whose lives are endlessly complex, bemoaning wokeness while not mentioning the authoritarian elephant in the room.

Marc Maron recently decided to stop podcasting. His last guest was Barack Obama. Quite an achievement. Quite a sad moment. It’s like losing a friend. It was somehow soothing to see him on the screen.

There is another podcast-sized hole in my heart. I long to make another one of my own. This month is the 20th anniversary of the first episode of my Vegan Radio podcast on October 26, 2005. I recently harbored some quiet dreams of launching something new this month to coincide. I just don’t have the time. My debts keep me working, trying to keep up.

This morning I was happy to have no students. There is an indescribable feeling when the tone of my voice harmonizes with the reeds trembling in the harmonium. I lead my voice up and down, orbiting around the melody. It is a dance. God is there; all of my past, present and future loves. I was not alone. I began by chanting the beloved last lines of the Buddhist Heart Sutra, “Gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate, Bodhi swaha!” (gate is pronounced gah-tey)

The mantra translates to “Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone to the other shore, Nirvana, rejoice!” I love the metaphor of another shore. That’s where Bruce was trying to go. That’s shorely where we all want to go.

Bodhisattvas who practice the Insight that Brings Us to the Other Shore see no more obstacles in their mind, and because there are no more obstacles in their mind, they can overcome all fear, destroy all wrong perceptions and realize Perfect Nirvana. ~ New Heart Sutra translation by Thich Nhat Hanh

Mantras remove obstacles as we let them enrapture us. From the Heart Sutra I free flowed into other mantras, from Krishna to Radha, from the Beatles and Lynyrd Skynyrd, eventually circling back to Om. Freebird feels as good as the Maha Mantra to a western yogi that calls himself Pashupa. All is one.

Where is the other shore? Throughout the biopic, Springsteen exorcises his demons onto a four track tape machine. The outside world wants him to create an album with hit songs. His heart wants something else. Something needs to get out. The result is the lo-fi album Nebraska.

I am still searching for my Nebraska. My Nirvana. The wise realize that enlightenment manifests in moments, it’s not a final destination (at least not for most of us). It is always right here.

Today I found this little space in my day to write. I know it’s been a while. I apologize to my paid subscribers. Finding the time is a struggle.

There is a fallen angel of guilt watching me now as I write, accompanied by a chorus of obligations. It has been too long and I can’t hold back any more. It feels cathartic, these words need to get out.

There are more words burrowed beneath these words, and still more buried beneath those. My fingers are starting to stiffen with age and hammers, I don’t know how much longer I will be able to hold down guitar strings or press the flesh of my fingertips into the keyboard.

My heart aches to uncover those buried words, the sacred chords, the art that will move you. Or at least to create piles of dirt and empty holes to show you that I tried.

This is not a whoa as me, I do know that am blessed. Lisa and Bodhi look at me with so much love in their eyes. I am somebody to someone. I have food and shelter and carry my singing voice wherever I go. I live each day in gratitude, realizing that much of the world is burning.

The autumn leaves tumble outside our window, now visible in the soft light of this cloudy day. This year’s peak foliage passed like a dream, as it always does. Our sweet little Bodhi is out there running around with her friend Pocket. My ceramic coffee mug is almost empty, and there are people waiting for me to build them things.

So I will say farewell for now, and try to come back soon. Until then remind somebody that you love them, be kind to a stranger, be brave enough to sing, and don’t forget to breathe.