In caverns below the city lives a beast, reviled. It's fierce and ancient and patient -n- won't come up unless riled. When you read of disappearance: kidnapped or ran away? It might be neither one, rather, it's breached the light of day. So, if this beast is not one you wish to look in the face, When you take to song and dance: don't stomp or over-Bass!
i see a horse,
and hear a banjo tune,
but don’t imagine…
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Release Date: September 6, 2022
This is a biography of the life of Jimi Hendrix in graphic novel form, from his youth in the Jim Crow South to his untimely demise. The book takes narrative license here and there, rather than being a just-the-facts scholarly or journalistic biography. This license is most extensively seen in the mystical and surreal dream and death sequences, but the back matter suggests that there was at least one event depicted in the book that didn’t happen in reality (or, at least, there isn’t evidence to support its occurrence.)
Hendrix’s life was so short and his death was now so long ago that few people know more than that he was a guitar prodigy with a penchant for playing in wild and unusual ways. The story digs into moments of poignancy and drama in the guitar phenom’s life as well as emphasizing his interactions with major artists of the day: e.g. Clapton, McCartney, and The Rolling Stones.
I found the book intriguing and valued the fact that there were notes and a bibliography in the back that help to clarify what’s well-supported and what events take creative license. The art is well rendered and colorful. If you’re interested in learning more about a rock-n-roll legend, it’s worth looking into this book.
View all my reviews
There was a fine singer from Nashville who couldn't ever get on a show bill. Others sang of their trucks, but he drove a Prius. So, relating through song was a task, uphill.
There are many downsides to being introverted, but one upside (at least in being a kinesthetic-oriented introvert) is that I can get out of my head and in touch with my body quickly and efficiently when I’m in motion. It can be a blissful state when the inner yakking pipes down and my awareness becomes attuned to sensation.
I would differentiate three types of movement that have very different effects on my state of consciousness. First, there are highly repetitive acts of movement such as running. Now, I do run because it’s great exercise, but it doesn’t tend to put me in the state of mind I’m talking about. Your results may vary. I know many people find “runner’s highs” or achieve a quieting of the mind when running. For me, running tends to produce a daydream-centric state of mind. I sometimes counter this by focusing my awareness on my breath, stride, or sensations, but — left to its own inertia — my mind goes into daydream mode.
Second, there are fixed sequence series of movements — preferably with a flow. The best example that I can think of — and which I currently practice — is taiji. I’ve been practicing Yang Style Taiji for a few years now, and find it’s conducive to this state of mind. However, the point that differentiates this type of movement from the next is that it takes some time to get to that point. One has to ingrain the sequence of movements into one’s body, then coordinate the breath, and then correct minute mistakes in the movement. It’s worth it, but it’s not an instant ride to altered consciousness. While you’re getting the fundamental movements down, the conscious mind is necessarily quite active and it’s hard to tune into the movement and the sensations.
Third, this is what I would call free movement. Some people think of it as a kind of dance, but not one with a fixed choreography, which would fit more in the second category. Free movement is just letting your body move (usually to music) with awareness to the body, but without conscious direction. While the feel created is much like that of the second type of movement, mentally it bears more resemblance to free writing, which I discussed last month. That is, one is trying not to direct the body consciously, but rather let the movement come about (perhaps mediated by the music.) Rather than trying to consciously direct the movement, the conscious mind is used to direct and maintain awareness of sensations. Sometimes, I keep my awareness on the soles of my feet, feeling how various movements — subtly or unsubtly — change the distribution of weight on the feet.
In doing this, I find that sensitivity to sensations — external and internal — dials up. While I’m focusing on internal sensation. I often notice tactile sensations that would usually not register. There’s also a more visceral experience of the effect of music, which is another subject in its own right. The blissful effect of music seems to be amplified by the body in motion.
In thinking about the difference between the second and third types of movement experience, I was reminded of the argument that a ritual is an essential element of plumbing the depths of the mind. As the argument goes, there’s something about inggraining a sequence of actions into one’s muscle memory and continually performing them that tunes one into something vaster than the self.
I’m still planning to do two more posts in this series, although I’m bouncing around alternative subjects for November and December, those joining this experience in progress and curious about previous posts can find them:
January – Psilocybin Mushroom
February – Sensory Deprivation / Float Tank
March – 30 Days of Meditation
April – Hypnosis
May – EGG Feedback
June – Breathwork
July – Lucid Dreaming
August – Sleep Deprivation
September – Free-writing / Poetry
Taken in August of 2019 in Almaty.
Taken in August of 2019 at Panfilov Park, Almaty.