"Dear Prudence" by Amanda Grieme

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Dear Jimi...Touch

3/31- Touch

Dear Jimi -

Unless you have reincarnated, I know that you can feel me talking to you, even 34 years after you passed. You, too, believed in spirit guides, and trusted that every person has at least one to help them through this life; either a brother or a sister from the spirit plane, or a loved one from a past life that the person had a really strong connection with. I have been so uninspired for the past couple of days, and I had begun to doubt myself, my talents, my dreams, my beliefs; I panicked when I saw the film “American Splendor,” about the comic strip. I am pretty sure that it came out post-1970. It was illustrated by Harry Crumb. Remember him? There is a scene in it where the notoriously dark and skeptical wife of the main character says to herself, in reference to her husband who announces that he has been asked to appear on the highly accredited David Letterman show, “ideas of grandeur” as a symptom of bipolarity a.k.a Manic Depression.

My mind went into a tailspin; “Ideas of Grandeur? Is everything I am striving for in vain? What if, what if, what if, what if I lose all inspiration, and can no longer write, or what if this medication that I am taking is in the process of turning off all receptors to creativity? What if I am no longer sensitive? What if I give up? What if I am making a mistake? What if I am giving jack the wrong advice? What if I am taking advice too literally? What if I can no longer feel music, or see color in light? What if I lose my passion for moonlight and my limbs no longer stretch toward sunlight, or what if I no longer believe in fairies?”
I began to panic. When you are in this state of mind, it is really easy to sink into static, where you feel like you are stuck behind a television screen, being pelted by viscous white/black electricity. I think that you can probably relate, judging from your musical vision. There has never been a musician like you; you made sweet love through your guitar, and the result is pure color. And then I had a dream today, when I drifted into midday slumber out of frustration. I dreamed that I was walking through a dark, fragrant forest, and the only light on the path was from an egg-shaped moon, seeping through the trees. I couldn’t make out what was beneath me, but it sounded like I was walking on a gravel path. I could feel it on my feet, and although the rocks were seemingly sharp, they didn’t seem to hurt the soles of my feet. I felt a cool breeze rustling trees, and I felt a chill, I looked down at myself and noticed that I was completely naked, and illuminated by the evening. I kept walking and listening to the wind, feeling my hair flap gently against my back, tickling it. Then I heard water in the distance, and I was drawn to it.

I then looked down and my Dog Sherman was there, not necessarily paying attention to me, but passing by on the path, I called out to him, but he didn’t acknowledge me. I then reached a clearing in the woods, and I looked into the distance and saw tiny flickering lights and I heard flutes playing a whimsical tune, along with earthy drums. The air smelled of hyacinth and burning sandalwood, and I noticed that the ground became more difficult to walk upon. There was another path that forked off of the path away from the music and light that was more like the one that I had been walking on, but I decided to go toward the lights.

I pushed through the trees, and the briars kept scratching my naked skin, and the rocks underfoot were slippery and sharp, but I was determined to reach the mesmerizing sound, cushioned by rushing water and twinkling lights. I climbed down a rocky embankment, pushed through some briars, and witnessed the most beautiful moonlit scene that I have ever encountered. There were beautiful child-like people dancing around a fire next to a waterfall that collected into a crystal pool of water. The egg-shaped moon danced on the surface. One man took my hand, and led me to a soft cushion made of forest ferns, and sat me down. He and I were both completely unaffected by the fact that I was naked; it was a very liberating feeling.

Everyone was illuminated by the fire, and by tiny lanterns made of glass, and most everyone had some sort of instrument to play. There was one male being, and even though he had long white hair, his face and small stature was still child-like. He was stirring a pot of something that everyone was drinking, but not a soul spoke. It is as if they communicated through music, dancing, and body language. He ladled out a cup of the pink drink, and handed it to me with a wise smile and twinkling eyes. I nodded, “Thank you,” I implied, and I sniffed the drink. It smelled like hibiscus tea and dandelion wine. I drank from the clay cup, and tasted a sweet, powerful flavor.

Next thing I recall I was feeling invincible and warm with the sweet drink, and I stood atop a smooth rock that sat among a pile, overlooking the pool of water. I looked into the water, and Sherman was swimming around like a seal. I looked up to the top of the water fall, and at the top, next to a tree on another rock was jack, standing in silence, watching the water rush down. Although we were far from each other, and we couldn’t read one another’s facial expressions, I felt him read my thoughts, and I his. It was a fantastic sensation. He wanted me to join him at the top of the waterfall. I feared that there was no way for me to get to him, but then he said, “just fly to me.” And like I had forgotten about my ability to fly I thought, “Oh yeah,” and I effortlessly lifted into the air, far above the beautiful pool of water, far above the little beings dancing in the forest, and far above the water fall, straight into Jack’s long, lanky arms. Without words he smiled and took my hand, and we flew up toward the egg-shaped moon together, into the indigo sky.

It felt so real, and I woke up inspired. I listened to your first album, “Are You Experienced,” and when “May This Be Love,” came on, I dropped to my knees and wept. Your song is so beautiful it hurts. The drums and the guitar introduction truly capture a waterfall:

Nothing can harm me at all
My worries seem so very small
With my waterfall
I can see my rainbow calling me
Through the misty breeze of my waterfall”

I then opened "The Inner World of Jimi Hendrix" by Monika Dannemann, your fiancee; I paged through it and cried. That book is so fantastic; she is such a gifted painter, and her perception of your music as painting is remarkable. Although I cannot help to think how painful it must have been for her to create the book; I’m sure that your spirit and living vicariously through her painting helped her through. It must have also been cathartic for her. My heart bleeds when I read it; your vision combined with her writing and painting exemplifies beauty. To inspire her to paint a depiction of “May This Be Love,” she asked you about the meaning of the song and its lyrics –

“. . . he explained that he was talking about the ever-flowing stream of inspiration, represented by the image of a waterfall. Water is a very powerful spiritual force. The waterfall represents life, movement, constant change. Jimi said it generates powers, and as long as his river of inspiration flowed he would have no worries, Jimi told me that the words ‘my rainbow calling me’ refer to his destiny and task on earth to convey his own special messages. He felt that there were three main sources from which his knowledge came. One is recollection of the inner knowledge, which can only be remembered by awakening one’s own spirit through thinking, meditation and suffering. The second source of knowledge is remembering astral experiences. The third is inspiration by other spirits.”

Perhaps my inspirational dream I had today was an astral experience. The sensations were phenomenal, the feeling of the earth, the rocks under foot, the briars cutting me, the sensation of drink, the warmth from the fire, the spray from the waterfall, the twinkle in the man’s eye, the feeling of flying, and scent and warmth of Jack’s skin when I flew into his arms. My senses were alive. I remember another different experience that I had with astral travel. Jack and I had broken it off, and I had fallen into a deep pit of depression, existing solely on cigarettes.

I remember one night, I sat on my couch to meditate, in an attempt to settle my mood. I felt my spirit leave my body, and I saw what it was seeing, but I wasn’t consciously aware of where it was going. It felt like it was attached to my by rubber bands of some sort. I watched it travel above my home like light, down a highway, above another highway until it happened upon a landmark that I recognized near Jack’s home. I remember the sensation of crying, but my soul was on a mission, and I was too curious to consciously pull out of the meditation. My soul traveled over his little town, over the lights on his street, and looked down upon him, sitting in his yard, playing the guitar. It was twilight. My soul reached down toward him, and his hands reached up toward my soul, and we embraced, and held each other, melting. I remember that I didn’t want to let go, but something made me. And when I awoke from my meditation, I cried a primal, healing cry, just letting go of sadness, until I fell asleep.

The next day, I spoke to Gwen, his mom on the phone, and I shared my crazy experience with her, and she gasped, “ What time was that approximately?” I told her around 9:00 pm, and she said that jack had come home from wherever around twilight, seemed down, and grabbed his guitar to go sit in the yard and vent. Who knows. I hope that you and Monika have been able to meet all of these years on the spirit plane.

Thank you for your inspiration, musical color, and divine wisdom -

Ana xo

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