“What we’re thinking about is a peaceful planet. We’re not thinking about anything else. We’re not thinking about any kind of power. We’re not thinking about any kind of struggles. We’re not thinking about revolution or war or any of that. That’s not what we want. Nobody wants to get hurt. Nobody wants to hurt anybody. We would all like to be able to live an uncluttered life, a simple life, a good life, and think about moving the whole human race ahead a step, or a few steps.” Jerry Garcia.
“Movement without philosophy is mechanical. Movement with philosophy is art.” Bruce Lee.
A pair of juicy quotes (nothing worse than a juicelees pear) from two of my favorites to open our exchange today. I offer a time/place story as a way of connecting the cosmic dots that bind us all in this delightful dance.
In 1995 I was working on a remote and isolated military base in the Indian Ocean. I was a contracted civilian tasked with managing the Morale, Welfare and Recreation (MWR) operations that provided fitness, recreation, leisure and a myriad of wholesome activities to the service men and women stationed on the island as well as the 1,500 contractor personnel working under the base operating support contract. It was a pivotal time in my life asking a leap of faith for a lifelong consciouses objector and freelance peacenik to serve in a military environment, but I embraced the dichotomy as best I could and put the needs of the individual ahead of the geo-political reason for our presence in the hot zone.
One of the programs under my management was our group specialty training classes, usually staged at night in the base gym. I quickly signed up for our martial arts program, specifically Taekwondo, quickly seeing it as a opportunity to advance my relentless quest to sync mind, body and spirit.
At the time of this full immersion into the world of martial arts and my outside research of its history, tradition and its demand on the sincere practitioner, I began studying the published works of the discipline’s more popular ‘celebrities’, that path, of course, leading me down the road to the doorstep of Bruce Lee.
After one balmy night of practice on the beach, fighting forms under a tropical full moon, I walked in meditation back to my quarters, about twenty steps from a beach that makes Waikiki seem bland, I showered and prepared a dinner of rice and vegetables. I switched on the TV to our only station and heard the news.
Jerry Garcia had died.
Awakened from my stunned state by the boiling rice, I sat in silence and felt my heart and soul mourn. It was as if somebody had just told me that Mom or Dad had died. I was absolutely numb.
Slowly thoughts began to float into my consciousness, memories of the hundreds of Dead shows I had witnessed over the years, the magic of the music and the mystery of the man. I felt very alone way out there in the middle of the ocean, seven degrees south of the Equator, helpless.
I sat very still for a long while letting my emotions play out, breathing deep in the attempt to calm the voice wanting to scream a response.
And I saw myself on the beach practicing an art form under the vivid glow of a moon few people would ever witness, and I heard the unique tone of Garcia’s guitar and the sincerity of his voice sing a tune to me that would forever power the magic in my soul.
Moving the human race forward a single step is that philosophy dancing into art.
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