The Assignment

Greetings from Melrose, Massachusetts! It strikes me intensely how quiet this neighborhood is. Usually at this hour, I am listening to the footsteps of my neighboors upstairs and the enchanting sounds of wooping car alarms. Here, I am looking out on the deserted street, at enormous houses that seem to be still asleep.
I made it to Boston last night. No fires errupted on the bus--just cellphone conversations and discussions about how emotions and a sense of morality are actually biological factors that occur first in the brain. I overheard the latter from behind me, and I got the feeling that the young woman who was describng these facts, would best be called a jive-ass talker. I could sense that at first she was confident in this new information, but as questions were asked of her, her knowledge disintegrated into phrases that began with "It's like, you know, totally true..."

I saw the Boss play an excellent show last night. We had great seats about 30 rows back and up--so the view was clear and not that far away. It was warm and moving. I really hope that he comes out with a live acoustic CD from all these performances. I sat listening, realizing this is the TRUEST and PUREST his songs get--and that's how I prefer them. Songs I usually hate--like the Rising--bring me to tears when he does it solo and acoustic. His voice is stronger than ever and I sat there both moved by his incredible gifts and yearning for that part in me that wants to play music. I just want to ask him so badly how he has kept the pump of songwriting going for 35 years. Not all of his songs are great, but all of them have a strength in them that ANYONE would find envious. How the hell does he do it? I'm jealous and yearning and moved and hurting when I listen to him. He's a GENIUS and a spiritual SAGE, and he touches me deeply with his work--but it also is a little unnverving. As the creators of Learning to Love You More have said, great art is like an assignment. You feel called to complete something yourself. Seeing Springsteen is like an assignment for me, but I'm still tangled up in my own doubt that I feel sealed off from the tools it would take to complete that task. Oh well, the least I can do is write something down--I haven't lost that.

I'm getting back on the bus today bound to New York. It's a cold and fall day. I'll watch the scenery and think about songs and probably hear a few more conversations that strike me as funny. This is a good time of year. A time to go inward and see what is there.