do a few things but do them well...

Today was given over to setting up my study/music room to make better sounds during my live-streaming gigs. I think I am making progress.

I am so NOT a techie/gear-head that this is all a work in progress for me. Don't get me wrong, I value my techie mates. They help me solve tons of problems and give me up-to-the-minute details on how to make things work better. And, without reservation, I listen to them. But unlike some musicians, I have never been fascinated with gear. What I love is playing live music with folk who are both tender-hearted and good musicians. Everything else - and I mean every thing else - is incidental. So long as I have adequate equipment, I am ready, willing and able to go anywhere (excepting this time of self-quarantine) to play kick-out-the-jam songs of joy, faith, hope, and love in a variety of styles.

After seven live-streaming broadcasts on Face Book (check them out at my spiritual direction site on FB @ https://www.facebook.com/Be-Still-and-Know-913217865701531/) it is clear that I need to fix something when I use music. As best I can tell, I need to change the electronic signals so that the sounds that come through go beyond compressed, underwater tones. My very modest, small equalizer and direct box should do the trick. I also have a new condenser mic that is scheduled to arrive early next week, too. It may be time to bring out my old Rickenbacker and plug it in as well seeing that my Martin does not have a built-in pick-up. I figure that over the next few weeks I'll workout the bugs in the transmission of music and then assess how it is going. After all, when this live-streaming gig transitioned from helping out a local church into something like a "post ministry" forum for contemplative reflection, I remained committed to being old school. I know various podcasts go high-tech - and more power to those who want to go down that road. My interests are more modest. I want to communicate some foundational concepts, poems and songs about this moment in time from a faith perspective. I really have no interest in the whistles and bells that are available: this is a time for essentials. Like Donovan sang in the spirit of St. Francis: do few things but do them well, take your time go slowly...

Before taking this on, you see, I prayed and talked to a few folk about whether or not this was just a vanity project. It very well could be, right? An old guy who has retired from ministry blah, blah, blah... But what kept bubbling to the surface in my critique was this: it is going to be a few years before live music is going to be viable again. Same for a variety of public gatherings including worship. So during this season of uncertainty and searching, why not offer a calm perspective concerning how tenderness might be a part of the world we want to create on the other side of our solitude? Why not offer some of the spiritual insights of the contemplative tradition for those looking for ways to go deeper right now? It is really the only gift I have to offer others beyond doing the house cleaning and cooking these days - which I love - so while I still can... why not? I have been grateful to hear from you that what I have been sharing resonates. One of Carrie Newcomer's poems, "Remembering," puts it like this.

I am remembering
My unbroken self,
Which understands that silence
Can be considered an absence of sound
Or experienced as a fullness of spirit.

I a remembering
That all is vanity in the end,
Except for the love that tumbles out of us,
Or shines down upon us,
In fleeting, glowing moments.
I am remembering
My own wholeness, 
The perfect soul I was born with,
Answer my long endeavors to name the unnameable,
And describe what I know only from the corner of my eyes.

I am remembering a lifetime of trying to map
The shape of shadow and light,
To draw the clean edges of change.
And what has made me an oddity
Asked me to live far more closely
To the center of all that awe and ache.

I am remembering my promise,
My willing decision to stand
In a shaft of January light,
Fascinated by the shimmer of the dust,
Suspended in a quiet room,
And how the light travels across the floor,
As a short day lengthens,
Reaching out like hands,
Covering the wood planks like spilled water.

Now that this work is done, I will watch the PBS news for a spell and pray over the blessings and wounds that it reveals. I'll cook up some pork chops, potatoes and vegetables for Dianne and myself - and watch a BBC mystery before bed. Tomorrow I'll write for the Sunday live-streaming gathering, Skype with my loved ones in Brooklyn, and share a short reflection and a few songs with my L'Arche community in Ottawa. Later, there will be bills to pay on-line, dinner to cook again, and if the weather cooperates some garden work to be done outside over the weekend.