“You can’t say, ‘One teaspoon of this, or one teaspoon of that.’ Like a musician, you improvise. It’s like being on a spirit plane; you put the proper things in without knowing why. It comes out wonderful when it’s done like that. If you plan it, it doesn’t work.” – Sun Ra
I found this quotation in a biography on the groundbreaking musician Sun Ra. It’s titled Space Is the Place: The Lives and Times of Sun Ra, written by John F. Szwed. This book has been in my possession, a giveaway from an old friend, and I’ve never traveled among the pages until now. If I’m going to listen to Sun Ra, and I do, then it makes sense to read about his life. Or lives.
At the start of a difficult morning, the book was in my bed. I grabbed it, performing an act of bibliomancy and said, “Turn me to a poem I need.”
The text doesn’t give the appearance of a poem. Yet what Sun Ra says is a poem. Additionally, it is guidance on how to write a poem. My request was answered.
In the preceding paragraph, Szwed states Sun Ra’s wisdom came from a moment when he was asked to share the recipe for a musician’s cookbook. And that’s what genius was offered.
Do you know how amazing this would have been to discover this teaching at the age of 28 when I was in the preamble stages of my experiments on piano? Instead of mentally surrendering to the falsehood I wasn’t doing anything right because I wasn’t “properly trained” or failed at my few encounters with traditional musical instruction via instrument? It would’ve been important to hear then. The seas of doubt had a chance to evaporate among the clatter of discordant playing.
In another world, I’m sure, I stumble upon the words of Sun Ra at that age, sitting at my piano, and the doubt is murdered.
But I found it this morning. The me I am right now, a Black person of transfeminine Goddexx experience in my mid-30s, preparing to shape my own musical artistry in ways I never have before. Regardless of how I feel about years past, Sun Ra’s offering was meant to be read when I discovered it.
This reminds me of a visit I had almost two months ago. I went to see a friend, Cunty MeMe; they are a brilliant musician. I hadn’t seen them in years and there was a window for us to see each other. During our time, I recall stating my confusion on where to take my music because I was overwhelmed with the multitude of directions. And you can’t move forward in all those sounds at once – something I remain struggling to keep in mind whenever I’m working on, or thinking about music. Cunty encouraged me to return to the drum, the djembe – I’m not even sure they knew if I had one but I do; her name is SojournerQuest. But whether they knew that information or not, it was a grand insight. The drum is the mother of rhythm.
My own maternal grandmother even told me that in her own way – when I was having strong anger issues, she said to use my drum.
I returned to the drum. Physically. A lot came out of it. Yet this confusion kept resurfacing. At this point, I continue to feel stretched out through all the directions my soul is calling me to take. My creative existence, a pair of legs stretching as far as they could, risking injury if I go one more half-inch.
I didn’t understand the real drum until writing this. I’m blessed to have my djembes. I’m blessed to have my percussion. Among these blessings of sound, the real drum I needed to return to was the drum of my creative life. That drum has always been affiliated with my own words.
Godthefuckdammnit… A way my life moves is by writing about my life.
Who the hell lied to me and said that the world doesn’t want to hear about my life? I lean towards the belief the lie was concocted in my head.
One of my boogeymen lied. That’s all boogeymen do. They defecate evil and they lie. And the residue stays behind if we don’t properly perform our maintenance.
In the closure of my 34th year, I have not only remembered that writing is my primary craft, which is connected to every other craft and gift I have, but that writing is the drum of my life. What I create matters. What I have to say about what I create matters just as much and is a root of my creativity.
I’ll be goddamned.
And as the rain falls down on another hump day where I know I need to practice gentleness with my body, as my cat sleeps at my feet, I bow in gratitude on the inside of myself for choosing great friends and mentors.
Because, chile, if you got them, use what they give you.
Venus Kii Thomas 