I have jazz playing almost all of the time. but realized this morning that I seldom truly listen to jazz. I have treated it as background noise: an ingredient in the mix, but seldom the primary taste of the recipe. I’ve given just cursory observation to the melodies, the chord changes and the overall cadence of a particular piece of music.
As I ventured outside with my dog Albus, I coached myself to mentally chew on the phrase “listen to the melodies.” I started to whisper this out loud. And immediately, in between focusing on deep breaths, I heard the dog next door barking as he constantly seems to do…and then, an entire orchestra of birds cued up from unseen aerial music stands. There were melodies all around me, even more spontaneously engineered than Miles Davis’ jazz masterpiece Kind of Blue. I walked, took some more deep breaths, listened and spoke to Albus as he demonstrated superior mindfulness (or, at least, nose-fulness).
Now I’m sitting back on my comfy chocolate-colored love seat, and Kind of Blue is rolling its soft melodies throughout this increasingly sacred space in the home basement. I’m listening as I write this. The writing is the priority, but the music has almost equal footing.
Perhaps, before long, the melodies of jazz, people and all of life will take their rightful place in the forefront of my consciousness.
