A few nights ago I saw the documentary “Birth of the Cool” about the life-and-music (inseparable to him) of Miles Davis.
At one point in the film, Miles says to his bandmates as they explore new musical forms: “Don’t play what you know – play what you don’t know.”
This phrase crystallized something for me – moments where I realized I don’t really know anything – that any conceptual form of knowing is itself a kind of movie overlaid on the surface of the unknown, projections dancing in a life-giving darkness. (more…)
I think of his eyes – dark pools so sensitive, radiant with droplets of feeling-light, the depth of them in tremulous water, how they seem to ripple inwards as I look into them, as if my heart itself is a ripple in that wide river of receiving, reflecting the sky of me so I can see my vast self for the first time, reflecting things I never saw in my own sky – eyes that hold that note steady, that one note that blows through my heart, all the way through.(more…)