I have returned from the outer rims of Philadelphia to public discourse.
It all started 20 years ago when the late Chris Rich asked me to be a guest on his blog Brilliant Corners. That led to That fat Eb feels mahogany to Me, a title nobody understood. Finally I landed on No sound left Behind. I wrote about 350 posts of 2-3 pages. I attempted a podcast last year and had big plans for it, but life had other plans for me that would bring two of the biggest changes a human being can experience. I have tried to satiate my desire to be a third house Sun with Facebook posts, but that’s like eating a hot dog when you really want some beef ribs from Dallas BBQ. I had reached an end on my last blog because while I was preaching the deeper meanings and value of a life dedicated to music, my life was being taken apart piece by piece. I have focused a great deal of energy on painting in my small amounts of free time the last few years, and I’m almost at 100 pieces. Music is still my prime directive however, believe it. Still, the writing bug has been gnawing at me. Part of my goal is to get into some topics outside of the free jazz world, though that is still going to be my major focus. Writing itself for me was partially academic while I wrote my thesis on Ornette Coleman and harmolodics. While I was in there, laying out the facts and proving my case was the main focus. I’m glad people have read it and looked at OC through my lens but the truth is that is an unfinished work that should evolve into a book. I thought that door might open, but my path led me elsewhere. Someday I may still write a book called Miles Tenors, a full account of what went down between Miles and the tenor from the beginning to the end. I have other projects that are in the lead however, that are part of the reason I exist. Part 2 of my Crop Circles Suite has to be my main focus. After that I want to write The Planets for the 12 Houses, including a painting of each one. I also recently did the diagram for a 12 year project to combine 144 12x12 paintings into a 12 ft by 12 ft giant painting. The spiritual mechanics of my work is something I hope to get into here also. Aside from all that the main reason I’m writing again on Substack is that I need the support, that’s the truth. Writing is part of my process, and the last few years have been the toughest of my entire life. I’ll start paid subscriptions next week. I hope folks will subscribe and definitely appreciate it. My intent is to write once a week, and hey, since today is Tuesday, I’ll make Tuesday my day. All that being said, here are the words coming to me now. I promise I won’t always go this deep, though going deep is my creed as any folks out there who have read my writing can attest.
Losing both of your parents in the same year is the kind of thing you might hope never happens but might not be able to not be afraid of. I cant shake that the two people that took part in my creation are both gone. While it has changed me in ways that will take years to process, it certainly doesn’t reach the level of change they experienced. They left. What I learned is that you get to see who people truly are in the last chapter of their story. In both cases my parents had months of decline, and both knew the sun was setting on their lives.
My father was first. He had been dying for 20 years really with severe Diabetes. I could see death around him for many years, which always left me shook. Many of us have heard when we’re children “One day I won’t be around to tell you this.” At a certain point it became clear his train was headed to the last stop. I met him there in the last station before he would move on in his journey. I had spent months talking to him in a way where he could really be himself for better or worse. I made sure he was seen and not judged for being who he was. I went further at my Mom’s direction and forgave him for everything, in fact validating his choice to and intent to be a dad. In short I realized that death makes all things clean.
Two memories stand out as I was with him in his final days. One, I put him on the phone his best friend for 65 years. They both knew it was the last time they would ever speak. His buddy said “Geez Gary, I just don’t know what to say.”
My Dad said “It’s OK, we had a good run Ed.”
You don’t always have to say I love you. Sometimes It’s just understood.
Finally, the last time I saw him he got real quiet and just stared forward. He knew this was it but didn’t cry or show any sign of fear. He seemed somehow calm and at peace. He was patient. This kind of simplicity revealed a kind of spiritual strength that amazed me. You can only wonder how your father would face death, and now here it was.
There he was..
The Marine.
My mother was next in line.
A vastly different experience, my mother could be canonized, while my father was a street wise bartender most of his life. I always saw them as the angel and the devil, validating my never ending inner trials of morality. My moms life began falling out a four story window in the Bronx at four years old. Nobody knew the man kneeling beside her when they ran downstairs to the street. He quickly disappeared and somehow my mother had survived. I still have her little shoes she was wearing at the time. Right in this moment she was not only saved by a miracle, but so was I and my brother. We simply would not exist had she fallen to her death.
Throughout her life, death came for her, and each time she would just be filled with light. I watched her fall off a deck and sprain her back. Her wind was knocked out but she said “Matthew, get help” I was 12. That was just the appetizer as she then endured SIX brain surgeries. At the first one she was not expected to survive and she wrote me a letter to read. I read the letter and it shattered my little heart into a million pieces. I looked around and tried to gather the pieces to put them together but could not. Then somehow, she survived, possibly because Love was coming into her life. Genuine devotion level love. At each brain surgery she seemed to get more used to the process. What I learned is that she was developing an unbridled faith in the process of life. She trusted God so completely that she truly didn’t fear death. To this day I remain in awe. She was the master of what I have railed against my entire life.
This last time death came for her, I knew in my heart that this time she wouldn’t be able to escape. When she entered hospice my worst fears were realized. What happened next was truly profound for me in my life’s experience. I went to her side and stayed in the room with her for her final week on Earth. We all knew that her time was imminent, yet she continued to elude death, seemingly saying no, and that she would go when SHE chose.
I was confirmed a Catholic as a teenager but I never practiced the religion. Still, I could remember the prayers, and I knew that nothing would mean more to her then me praying with and beside her at this time. I prayed and sang with her for countless hours for several days holding her hand. It was just the two of us much of this time.
We listened to William Parker’s Poem for June Jordan over and over, and over again.
The lyrics say:
For all you are
is all the good
that will exist
for all of time
She now is the angel she always was on Earth
TBC