Monday, November 7, 2016

127.0.0.1

I was at this epic concert last night called Jam the Vote. I'd heard that the lineup was loaded, however I only knew QuestLove and the Blind Boys of Alabama from the dozen plus artists listed. Then again, it promised to be soulful night of Jazz, and I was not about to pass up on a Sunday night jazzfest, so my buddy and I went.

The fusion was soulful, authentic, legit New Orleans soul, blues and jazz + reggae & afrobeat that had me rocking the whole night. I went berseck, and thoroughly enjoyed live music from amazing bands and performers like Alex Ebert, Amayo (Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra), Win Butler, Irma Thomas, Lee Fields, Matisyahu, Valerie June, George Porter (The Meters), and the Preservation Hall Band. And that wasn't even half of the lineup. Each one of them I was knowing/hearing (about) for the first time, and they were all phenomenal with their originals and covers of legends like Bruce Springsteen, Bob Marley. It was fire!

And suddenly, in the midst of my hedonistic frenzy, Alex Ebert (from Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros) took the stage and performed this song called Home.


Flashback to the past couple weeks, when the word "Home" revisited my mind, and started to leave trails of breadcrumbs around, and clearly even up until this concert. In one early morning meditation while traveling last month, I'd had clarity and wrote out, "... my intention for my relationship is one that is intimate and shared, and at the same time whole. Home. We are at home. I am his home, he is my home. Architects."

I had searched my thoughts and poured out the first things that came to my mind when I thought of "Home": Travel, Wanderlust, Family, Apartment, "back home", "going home", family members, groups, address, homeboys, live, leave, homie, permanent resident, residence.

I looked up the meaning of the word and these were some of the results: Where domestic affections are centered. Structure. Dwelling. Social Unit. Refuge. Origin. Security and Happiness. Native Habitat. Care.

Somewhere between decision and realization, I found it. That Home is a person, and home is a place, and this word or its theme has for a long time haunted me in many ways than one. Yes indeed, I wrote this post three years ago about it. About how sometime in 2012, a book review (article in the New York Times) about Toni Morrison's novel titled Home spooked me out for a year. Maybe more shook up than spooked out, but it was uncanny, and rocked a sensitive tenet that unnerved me.

I'll keep following the breadcrumb trail to see where it leads. Meanwhile, I owe it to myself to pick up a copy of this book now that the vibes are present.

Home

  

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