Careful: this is a lot of reading.
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05-29-2009, 5 a.m. – I’ve been awake for 22 hours, now. From now on, I think it’s a good idea to avoid early flights, as long as I live in Boston—the lack of transit at night really makes it a problem, and forced me to show up here at the airport at approximately 1:30 a.m. I’m going to get some food, so that I pass out faster, when on the plane.
They let me take my guitar, though, so I saved money and peace of mind.
9:30 a.m.-ish, not counting Mountain Time – I’m somewhere over Nebraska, having fitfully passed out most of the time. The flight is quite light, and I have an entire row to myself, in case I get sick of the left window. Looking across the way, there’s more going on in terms of visual fireworks, but nothing in terms of what I’m concerned about. Nebraska is, unnoticeably flat. I’m glad I’m not a Midwesterner, anymore.
I will never get tired of flying. Whenever I’m in the air, I never need to refer to my bag for anything to do, because I’ll probably be fine just gazing outside and watching the world literally slide beneath me.
One actually is reminded of certain writings about the mind, and evolution. I am looking outside, and I see the world, and am aware that there are people down there—hell, I can see their houses. But, of course, I can’t see all the little details that flesh them out. I just see a dot, or a bunch of dots. I wouldn’t be able to handle all the details up here, though: there’s far too much to conentrate on, and so I just see dots. I’d go mad if I was able to see the minutiae of the world, all at once. That is the way the human brain has evolved, and why we see a rock, instead of billions and billions of molecules, atoms, or smaller. We see it that way, so that we can assimilate it, and use it—in essence, we force shorthand on everything in our world, including our world.
You could also translate that into music, if you so chose. We never hear/listen to music as “C C G G A A G”, or the various actions required to make the sounds; we hear it as Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and might notice the unusually breathy quality of the singer’s voice, but just hear that as timbre. When we are listening to music, we are forcibly abandoning that basest of levels, so that we can focus on the whole. And, unless we are a trained musician, we’ll never tap into that level, and thus surrender a lot of the mystery to the unknown. If we are too microscopic, though, or if we refuse to bring ourselves up from that level, instead preferring to focus purley on sound quality or tone of note, then we lose sight of the music and fail in our responsibility to the musician and the music and the art of it all. Intentionally? Dubious, but it is alarming to deal with it.
We’ll pick this up in Salt Lake City.
10:10 a.m., Mountain Time, Salt Lake City, UT – Beginnings of a serious headache. I’m assuming that it’s a result of the awkward sleeping I was maintaining on the plane. It would not be convenient for this to be a lack-of-caffeine headache, as I still need a little more sleep. It’s weird being in this area of the country again, even if it’s only an hour or so. Everyone’s just so… frumpy. Granted, these are travelers, and one never looks good when traveling, but still—choose some more flattering pants, eh?
I want to travel, more. Only with better coffee.
05-30-2009, 11 a.m., en route to Tacoma – The plane ride was uneventful, thankfully, and I barely slept. Met up with Lindsey. We went straight to her place, ate, dropped by Guitar Center (apparently, no one has my strings), and went over by the Space Needle. Met up with Sam Turner (old high school friend), had dinner, and then let him drop us off at a gathering of Lindsey’s friends. Apparently, Lindsey has decided to become a hippy punk. There was only reason that I’d be able to even stand that group, besides the thrilling opportunity to achieve the status of “raging ninny”, and that would be Whitney, who seemed intelligent, and was quite attractive. No, wait: she was a hipster, too. No.
Lindsey and I left and went back to her place; I showed her a couple of things on YouTube, and then promptly passed out. She got me to the bus this morning, and now I’m en route to Tacoma/Lakewood, where Aunt Gabi and Co. will be picking me up.
2:45 p.m. Arrived at Gig Harbor, Raft Island Guitar Craft Course. Here we go….
11:30 p.m., Raft Island – The course was declared to have officially begun at 9:21 p.m. Before, at the evening meal (tofu, brocolli, and carrots), very few people spoke, and then we were “visited by silence”. Being in a room of approximately 65 people that are dead silent is, on the one hand, strange. On the other, it was fascinating and exhilarating. Still, though: strange.
We introduced ourselves at the inaugaural meeting, which involved stating who we are, where we’re from, what brought us here, and what our aim is. Following is what I said.
“My name is Brad Hogg. I’m originally from Montana, and now live in Boston. What brought me here was the discovery two months ago that Guitar Craft may hold some new paths, and maybe some answers. My aim for the course is, hopefully, to clear some of the chaff away, to find the answers.”
I feel like the first couple of blocks cemented together, tonight.
05-31-2009 – woke up at roughly 5:30 a.m., got up around 6 a.m. Slept fitfully, though I blame that more on the strange location and poor mattress than anything. Sitting is at 7:15, so I have time.
Sitting ended at 7:48 a.m.
Breakfast at 8:00 a.m. Lasted about half an hour.
During the sitting, I mostly noticed that my mind was racing, but that I was completely calm. Someone’s cell phone went off. I don’t expect that to happen again. One curious thing that I noticed, during the sitting, was that I suddenly snapped out of it. It’s important to note that I didn’t realize what I was snapping out of, until I did it. Interestingly enough, this didn’t come until after the cell phone. In fact, it felt like the cell phone going off actually distracted me from concentrating so hard, and allowed something to happen. Then it stopped happening.
When I’ve done this at home (in a much more abbreviated fashion), I’ve been successful maybe 50% of the time. Some times, it works really well, and other times, I’d be doing more good by beating two rocks together.
Actually, I probably would be more effective by doing that, but that’s not the point.
Everything is so calm. The beginning of playing, which was at 10 a.m., was begun by playing the first note in a week. Everyone played sparse notes for about 10 minutes, and then circulated a chosen note, in different directions. RF led the first part, and then left us to the “guitar buddies”, the intermediate and experienced Crafties (all League members) that are on the course to help and nourish (my interpretation) the beginners on course.
Lunch at 1 p.m. Helped in the kitchen—interesting, since there was a meeting of the crew before and after the work. The first was informative, and the second meditative.
I’m honestly having fun.
4 p.m. – at tea (or was it lunch?) RF mentioned the cellphone from this morning, and that it was a first from 24 years of Guitar Craft. He then suggested, not too subtly, that the beginners attend a meeting on the morning sitting. At 4:45 p.m., we did exactly that—RF led us through a full 30 minute sitting, quite systematically. At 5:20, we were released to our own devices, at which point I chose to go off and practice for about 40 minutes (and remember what it was like to play guitar).
6:15 p.m. – Tai Chi. I never thought that I’d be doing that, but am pleased to find that it was wonderful. That, and I figure that I’m trying to remain open to every thing that’s put in front of me.
That finished, and was followed by dinner at 7. Dinner was treated with a minor-keyed piece that seemed based on circulation, as well as a song by one of the long-term Crafties (apparently, his singing was quite unexpected). When RF was addressing the course, he asked if the beginners had any comments about their day’s findings. One person, Chris, mentioned that, at the second rehearsal, when we were all rushing, he had the realization that it was him “who was not choosing to move ahead with the music.”
For my part, I am finding that I have never stood outside myself quite like this.
10:30 p.m. – Full "House of Guitars." Roughly 65 people in the chapel, sitting in two circles, one large, and one smaller and on the inside. There was a moment when one of the beginners, who had already chosen to be late, also chose to make a scene about being in the inner circle: “I don’t belong there!” “No one said that you did not.” At this point, this was the last available spot, and had been for some time. So, it was meant for him, whether he wanted it or not.
During the double circle, we had three improvisations.
“When ready, please begin.”
We improvised for probably 10 minutes. There were some interesting points, but it was mostly tentative, and almost strictly atonal.
“When ready, please begin, again.”
This was when I stepped outside myself. This improvisation was a much more interesting piece of music, and I did feel like it was musical. At one point, it became very aggressive, with the outer circle (where I was) circulating power chords. I suddenly looked at it as a group, outside myself, for a very brief moment, and then snapped back.
“When ready, please begin again, again.”
On this last one, RF turned out the lights. What happened was best summed up by RF himself, later. There was already a great deal of energy in the room. When it went dark, people gained a new sense of anonymity that lent itself to recklessness, as opposed to freedom. It was interesting for a moment, and then fascinating, and then dull and repetitive for the rest. The lights went on, and it sort of flopped out and died.
I’ll need to digest that for a couple of days. Mainly, I just needed to get out of my cabin.
06-01-2009, 10 a.m. – during the morning sitting, I had a moment when I realized that my leg was falling asleep, and that the pain was beginning to be almost unbearable. So I let it become so, if you will—I just let it go. I got about 5-7 more minutes out of it, in the same position, before I finally had to shift. A little later, I became aware that I was in a fair amount of pain, but that I could deal with it by breathing.
I cleared up, momentarily, and then snapped out of it, again. But then, through breathing, I began to approach it, again. Eventually, I was distracted by my legs, again. I am only getting a tiny glimpse of the persistence I I’ll have to adopt.
Also, I missed Tai Chi, because I was down by the water, practicing. Oops.
2:10 p.m. – During lunch, when RF asked if we had any comments, since dinner the night before, I mentioned, or rather observed, that during the second improvisation I experienced a moment—very brief—in which I stood outside myself and saw the room. Then, it ended.
Alexander at 3 p.m.
Private meeting with Martin, one of the “buddies”. After that, we had the first real down time since Saturday, which I spent learning “Hope” and “Invocation”, two of the pieces of repertoire. The last was a little bit more conceptual, as I couldn’t quite get the picking pattern of the theme, which I’ll write out after breakfast, probably.
At dinner, the issue of private meeting sign-up sheets being taken down was brought up. Len, an older man who happens to sleep on the bunk below me (also the person who chose to be tardy to the House of Multiple Guitars), tried to confront RF and the buddies about it. Martin relented, but Len doesn’t seem thankful. He seems like a frustrated asshole.
At 9:30, some of the beginners chose to work on circulating, and the rest of the course went back to the chapel. One circle, with 5 groups. Each group had a chord, and that was what they played that night. Going around the circle in sequential groups, with different variations on the order, eventually moving to what I saw as a fairly insubstantial whizz. For those who do not know, whizzing is essentially a circulation, which itself is passing a note from one person to the next, in the circle. Circulation is one of the primary forms of music in Guitar Craft. To take it to the next level, a circle would whizz, which is to say that it would circulate really fast.
We did exactly that, eventually, but I kept felt like I was getting in the way—I was still having fun, though. The whizz went around a few times, and then sort of imploded upon itself, at which point RF had us play all five chords at once, which was a glorious sound.
Bed at around 11:30 p.m.
06-02-2009 – Up early—about 5:30 a.m. Like I had for the two previous days, I went down to the dock and looked out at the bay for about 20 minutes, just relishing in the quietude. Morning sitting at 7:15. It is starting to get easier: I blanked for about 5 seconds, and then snapped out of it. I consider this progress.
Breakfast was wonderful. Very quiet. Some interesting comments from everyone.
Attended Tai Chi, again. Enjoyed that as well. Am considering finding a teacher/class back home.
10:45 – Had an interesting epiphany, of sorts, during beginner’s work with RF. We were working on counting in 5 and 7, and performing miserably. When counting 5 as ONEtwothreeFOURfive failed, and 7 as ONEtwothreeFOURfiveSIXseven proved just as ill-fated, we moved to counting just ONE, which just didn’t happen.
Eventually, it became apparent that the bigger problem was a little more personal: as the note (eventually just the beat/clap) came around the circle, each person would actually shrink away from the beat, because he or she didn’t want to be the one who screwed up. As a result, the beat was continually off, continually late, because each person was terrified of being the one to blame, as opposed to just taking the responsibility for the note, whether it’s wrong or not.
6:45 p.m. – When presenting that last bit to the course at lunch, the “us vs. them” attitude was sort of thrown in my face, again.
“They are offering this to us. They’re equal to us, and they’re making themselves available. Why turn it away?”
Later. “A lot of people were very offended by that remark you made at lunch.”
Later, still. “Hey, were you offended by my comments?”
Later, again. “So, you were basically saying that we need to take responsibility for our mistakes.” “Well, not just mistakes, but just take responsibility.”
Later, still, again. “I just wanted to say I really appreciated your observation.”
During dinner, it was quite noisy in the hall, but I didn’t really notice it. I was stressed out, and it seemed everyone else was, too. I forget how exactly it all started, but at some point, during dinner comments and discussion, one of the intermediates mentioned the act of taking responsibility. She was talking about the mistake-making workshop that Hellboy Tom had held, and how the circulation we were trying to play never made it around the circle, because the mistakes were random, yet people almost seemed to be preparing for it. They weren’t taking responsibility for their mistakes, which actually seemed to be making the person before them screw up.
At this, the room went dead quiet. It was the first time that true silence had visited in a couple of days (since Saturday, really). Dennis (an Intermediate) then pointed out, once RF asked him, that we simply hadn’t let it visit, and that it was high time that we be open to it.
Then it was decided what the night might hold for us. Long story short, there were three options: take a “Rhythm Walk” with Bill Rieflin, study Craft repertoire with Leo, or “aspire to making music” with RF in the chapel. I raised my hand for repertoire, realizing as I did so that I was making the wrong choice.
I haven’t felt quite that level agitation and stress in a while. Alex (one of my fellow beginners) asked me why I had picked that, and I replied that I knew it was a bad choice. Noting my distress, Alex pointed out “I thought you were here to make music.”
So, at 9:30 p.m., I found myself in the chapel. We first started out with an improvisation—I noticed how much more controlled and musical it was, compared to Sunday’s cacophony. There was a similar moment on Monday, too, but this had a little more resonance.
RF then split us into groups, still within the circle. I found myself the only beginner in a group of experienced and formidable guitar players, which I took as an inadvertent compliment/opportunity. Each group improvised for roughly 2-3 minutes at a time (“This group, right here, please begin to play for 2 minutes and 38 seconds…. 1234!”), and in retrospect, I thought I held my own pretty well. After this, RF then reorganized some of the groups to be a little more equal in size, and then gave each group a chord, same as the night before.
We began in a similar fashion—group 1, group 2, group 3, etc.—in sequence. Then, instead of different arrangements, we moved straight into whizzing. Two sides of the circle, each made of three of the groups. From the first person on one half to the last person, and back to the first person. Repeat twice more, and then off to the other half of the circle. Three times back and forth, and then around the circle 7 times. Repeat. Repeat. Fall apart, and try again. Again, only 7 times on each side, and 7 times around.
I had started to have a sense of when it was coming around, the night before, but I still wasn’t quite getting there. This night, it was better, but I felt like I was in the way, but so close I could taste it. I began to see and feel when it came my way (it was almost like something was physically being passed from player to player). And then we ended with the form, and just started whizzing around the circle.
Bill Rieflin had come in, and was sitting in the room, behind Dev Ray and Hellboy Tom. He later told us that, when the whizz started to just rotate, it started out a little slow, but “took off” around the 50th time around, and completed 97 revolutions. At the very end, he roughly clocked the revolutions at 140 beats a minute. Then, it collapsed in upon itself, and we played another glorious “crunch” chord (all at once).
And then, of course, we retired, and went to bed.
06-03-2009 – The next morning, upon waking, I felt a little like I was on a different course. The feeling of stress and discomfort from the day before wasn’t around, anymore, and everyone seemed to have made some sort of “progress”, for lack of a better word. The sitting was much quieter, and not nearly as twitchy (though, for my own part, I was still having trouble concentrating because of my sitting position), and everyone seemed much more comfortable at breakfast, and in a better mood, overall.
As we moved from eating to discussing, we found that the beginners that had chosen to learn repertoire, in the main hall, also had a very good night, though of a decidedly less cathartic nature: they had spent the entire night working on one piece of music, “Invocation” (or was it “Aspiration”?), but also listening to the air outside, the sounds of the room, and tuning in to everything around them. The “rhythm walkers” had also had a fairly productive night, though a little abbreviated in kind. A good night for everyone. It was also mentioned that, if one played with the numbers, the whizz from the night before had ended the night traveling around the circle at a speed of roughly 160 kilometers, or about 100 miles an hour. Pretty cool.
Tai Chi in the morning at roughly a quarter of 10, and then an Alexander Technique meeting. I have done a great disservice to AT, over the course of this journal: the Alexander Technique was one of the more important ongoing works of the course, as it was helping us focus in on our bodies, and pinpointing various idiosyncrasies in the way we moved, sat, and held ourselves. I have never been so attuned to the way my back works, or the way my head is held. Tai Chi would be nice, but I have every intention of finding an AT teacher in the Boston area.
Beginner’s meeting with RF at about 10:30. The change was immediately apparent from the day before, as we were able to circulate with much more cohesion. RF had us vamping and soloing for a little bit (to most people: “Solo!”, followed by “Smokin’!” at solo’s completion), and then moved on to thrakking in 5, 7, and 11.
By thrakking, I mean this: three groups, each playing their chord, in their time signatures. Top line in 5, middle in 7, and bottom in 11. “One” for each line is capitalized and blue. Please excuse the quality of image.
And so on.
Managing to do this, when we’d been unable to find “one” the day before, was remarkable. I am still surprised at how much better it was.
Lunch, and then more of a good day, with personal meetings, all around. I took the chance to have a personal AT meeting with Sandra Bain Cushman, who really strongly suggested that I find a teacher, as I took so easily to her suggestions. She also asked me to tell Victor that she said ‘hi’, as they’ve known each other for a very long time.
Tea at 4 pm. While I was talking over something with one of the beginners, Hellboy Tom came over to me and asked me a favor: would I please sweep the steps of the chapel? No rush, but when I got a chance? I happily agreed, and Tom said thank you, and by the way, to pay attention to what I notice about the place.
This is Guitar Craft: there are always a couple of different meanings available. I excused myself, fetched a broom, and then set to the task. The first thing I noticed, of course, was that I wasn’t quite noticing what I wanted to. One person, walking by, asked me who put me on broom duty, and I replied that I was asked, at which point the walker continued his walking. The steps were clean, and so was a good portion of the sidewalk. I saw that a pair of shoes had been left behind, but ruled that out, as it was too obvious. I looked around the steps, a little into the chapel: still nothing. Having failed to notice anything immediately apparent, I tried to pay attention to what happened as people walked in. While nothing immediately apparent came up, about the only thing I noticed was that no one was noticing the changed state of the stairs. One or two people had seen me sweeping, but no one said “thanks”—this is not to say that I was digging for appreciation. I really was just trying to see what happened, and what came up. Feeling a little blind, I walked into the chapel, to continue with the day.
Dinner at 7 pm. A very powerful silence came over us, during the meal (which was admittedly quite Spartan). This was one of the longer silences that had visited, and by this time, I was incredibly open to it, and very aware of the tangibility of it. Someone had said, the day before, that you could feel silence trying to come in, but that there was too much noise, too much distraction. Now, it came, and it was almost like being caught under a pillow, but not in a negative way, if you will. It eventually lifted, but you could still feel its presence, in a sense.
RF called for a meeting of all the beginners in the chapel at 9:15. At that time, we found ourselves sitting in the circle, with RF at the proverbial head, but it wasn’t really the head, it was sort of off center—almost as if he was intentionally avoiding the top, 12 o’clock position. No guitars, this time: this was strictly a Q&A session. I had a very strong suspicion of what might be sprung upon us, at this point, but I wasn’t really willing to lend voice to that suspicion, as I had nothing to back it up.
About three minutes of silence, followed by question time with ‘Old Uncle Bobby’ (his sense of humor is very crazy-old-English-man). A few different questions were asked of him, followed by his response. Regrettably, I don’t remember any of them, but I do remember mine. I asked him about how the course had been under a tangible amount of stress and discomfort the day before, but that, after the whizz, it instantly seemed to change into something much more pleasant, more real. The confusion seemed to dissipate. Did he think that it was coincidence, or that the whizz was directly related?
His answer was surprisingly straight-forward, almost as if he’d been waiting for this question. No, it was not coincidence. One can divide a process, or an event, into three parts: a beginning, a middle, and an end. Going on from that, each of those parts has three parts, so you have:
The beginning of the beginning,
The middle of the beginning,
The end of the beginning,
The beginning of the middle,
The middle of the middle,
The end of the middle,
The beginning of the end,
The middle of the end,
And the end of the end.
While this all seems quaint enough, it’s actually quite true: one has the very outset, followed by the point where one is still testing boundaries, and then the end of the novelty of an experience. Following this, one enters into familiarity, and the awareness of this unfamiliar sense of familiarity. Then one hits the middle of the middle: “You’re too far forward to go back, but much too far behind to go ahead.” It’s awful, and the sense of being stuck in a rut, which is never a fun feeling, prevails. That was exactly what we were caught in the throes of, the day before.
(Later, when talking over the whizz with a fellow beginner, the subject of whether the whizz was a reaction or a catalyst came up. This is still a fair question, and one that I’m still not sure I know how to answer. The timing was unmistakable, of course, and there was an immediate change, afterwards. The truth may well be that, with RF directing, he essentially created a temporary construct, with the whizz as an intended end result, but the degree of success was unexpected. )
RF then pointed out that, in order to get through the middle of the middle, one keeps on doing what one has been doing—you continue on. Challenges come up, and you meet them, as best one can.
This entire time, he’d been holding a hat, upside down. I hadn’t seen him wear a hat the entire course, so it was apparent that it wasn’t his. He noted the history of the hat (Igor Abuladze’s personal skull shelter), and that usually the hat he preferred was that of Hernan Nunez, the director of all things Guitar Craft in South America and Europe (that hat, incidentally, dated from Nunez’s tenure as a David Bowie security guard). But that was not the point.
Inside the hat were the names of all the beginners. Placed in the middle, on the floor, they constituted 2 quartets, a quintet, a sextet, a duo, a trio, and one solo. RF then announced that the following night, we’d be performing right there in the chapel: 9:30 sharp. The music would consist of one piece per group, and then an ensemble piece from the whole group. At 10 p.m., the chapel was needed for the intermediates, but after that, was available until 5 a.m. He then smiled, and quietly walked out the front, leaving our surprised selves to our own designs.
My first thought was, well, I guess I was right.
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