Singing, and Writing about Singing

I know only that I felt the impulse this morning. I awoke early with the buzz in my ear. I know that buzz. It's somewhere between an angel's sigh and a low hum. It's quiet, until I remove my attention from any other thought (traffic. the phone is ringing. rent is due soon. Oh, $%^& rent is due soon.). It is so easy NOT to listen to the hum (Oh, rapturous!) and instead let the LOUD hum of the collective human thought take over... but I choose the call of creation because I believe that by tuning into nature, or somewhere out there beyond right and wrong, or, wherever this hum will lead me today... I can at least change MY life for the better and more beautiful, if not someone else's.

Also, because I have, for most of my life, found that if I choose the hum of disconnected, random human thoughts that aren't called forth from my heart, I am very unhappy. So. Heart it is.

I am not one to believe that my thoughts are real. Oh, I can sometimes buy into them but as quickly as I can I pull out. Why? Well, I ask you, why not? Believing that your thoughts are real is dangerous because then when your thoughts change- and they will- just by dint of being alive you will learn something new. Trust me. Even the most religiously faithful to living according to "old ways" canNOT truly live that way because of the mere existence of cell phones and airplanes. Anyway back to this- when your thoughts change- or, rather, the world changes ITS thought but you only partially change YOUR thought, well then, you may just build up anger, resentment, and fear like plaque on your soul.

I don't really believe in plaque on your soul, either, but it's a fun metaphor to loosen up patterns that no longer work for me.

So talking about this and living this are two different things and for me, that is where writing, singing, and songwriting come together. Because through the act of listening, and then writing down what I hear, I get to practice dipping into the {collective} or "source" or UNIVERSE or the muses or whatever we want to call it- and then channel it into "individuality" if only for a moment. i.e. THROUGH this body and all its patterns and habits and growth.

Last night I sang at a beautiful little space off Sunset Boulevard. Charlie Chaplin's old house, in fact. It's now a light-filled wine bar literally three feet from one of the most famous streets in the world. Across the street from the Chateau Marmont and steeped in Hollywood lore. I love Hollywood, similarly to how I love literature. It thrills me, pains me, takes me on journeys and I wanna be a part of it. AND I know that it is not so much "REAL" as much as it shows me who I am at this moment by response to it.

See, this is, I think, the thing about thoughts, and life, and people, and art, and sports and politics and all the rest of it. Really, all any of it/ us is/are ever doing is showing us who we are. I am NOT conservative, I AM a bohemian, I am NOT a bohemian that doesn't use deoderant, Or blah blah blah whatever. That would be the outer personality of an Er-Bear, well, this Er-Bear anyway! I happen to know through the miracle of Google there are lots of other Erin Muirs out there and lots who identify with the nickname Er-Bear. And I know one Erin Muir at least is pretty conservative and definitely NOT a bohemian (she's military- and a very cool chick I might add!) And guess what. I look at her and I see me, parts of me. And I lose a little judgment and enter more understanding and then,

I write a song.

And then I sing that song.

Like last night.

Last night I had the most beautiful band. Great musicians. Great souls. The people who came to hear me sing are among my favorite people in the land- true friends among them- new friends. And there were moments when I just felt we were flying. I have this thing where, when it's good, I have no idea what I will sing next (and the song could be Happy Birthday!) I have no idea what I am writing next- I just let these words tumble out- and it is electrifying and terrifying and beautiful.

So something about last night- the way the late afternoon sun filtered through white curtains and white walls- the way the traffic outside would speed and then slow and people would poke their heads in to hear what was going on- the way I could look at everyone in their beautiful eyes and feel a shared moment- whether or not that was love I - well it was, really. It was all love. It was all love.