I was reminded of the power of the arts – in this case music – just weeks ago while yet again listening to the Simon and Garfunkel’s (S & G) “Reunion concert in Central Park” CD; listening being the operative word.
This is one of our absolute favourite CD’S when on the road. I remember sometime last year Gary and I had a “most valued CD on the road” competition that Adele won the award for.
Simon & Garfunkel came in second. Thing is, I am not sure whether Adele would stand the test of time as well as they do! The jury is still out on that one…
And even though I had heard these S & G songs many, many times before, I listened to the lyrics attentively once again.
Sometimes one thinks one knows even the nuances of songs, but the word serendipity started making a bit better sense to me.
And, I wondered what the world might have been like if we all found a home in the arts? How would it have affected the arts world, and the world as a whole?
Demanding lifestyles and ruthless steamrolling often prevents us from really listening to one another (let alone the universe) and it also prevents us from taking real time out for some meta-cognition: to think about our thinking.
Even scarier is what I call the current human condition of inhumanness – where people don’t make real quality time for one another unless there’s “something in it” for them.
I believe the human being has become more shallow over the years. We claim we are more progressive and technologically advanced.
But, let’s face it, that epitome of beauty – the human baby’s outward appearance that we are all born in common with, has been thrown out with the sullied bath water many moons ago.
“I’m sitting at the railway station, got a ticket for my destination”, sing Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel. These lyrics only really shot roots for me some days ago – my ability to sense its bigger meaning seems to have been lost on me for some reason. For the longest time I thought they only meant it literally – that the character in the song was “Homeward Bound”, as in “on his way home”.
But “home” is not unlike a tortoise’s shell, one we carry with us constantly. It also certainly does not only mean that after all the “tours of one-night stands” and how “each town looks the same” to us or that our words come back to us in “shades of mediocrity” means that all we want is to be bound for some place that will take us away from uncertainty.
Uncertainty is not as bad as the commercial world would like us to believe it is.
Uncertainty and a bit of instability thrown in for good measure can keep us very grounded, very sane and helps to keep us humble.
And home is a relative concept that pertains to all the many facets of who we are.
And yes, our physical homes should provide all the creature comforts that will make us “long” for them, but often our hearts – where our homes should be – dictate a different course.
And our concept of “home” will always be indelibly etched into our psyches.
But our concepts of home also change as we change.
And, does the heart always know the route to happiness?
Or does it oftentimes deceive us into believing something that perhaps is not really there? The heart is strange like that – it is the home of our emotional selves.
I can just imagine the conflicts that must go on in there on a daily basis…the one vessel where benevolence and malevolence; happiness and sadness and good and evil (quite comfortably, it would seem) live side by side.
My anomalous conclusion: methinks we are every minute, every day, in some form or another “Homeward Bound…”