03/11/03’s illustrious band:

Illicit Music

Brought to you by Senor Editor, guest blogger of the day. Senor Editor writes:

Sometimes it’s all about the tunes. I’ve always been a subscriber to one of the beliefs from the Aborigines of Australia: that of the Songlines. All of us are guided through our lives by the influence of the Songlines, mystical melodies that guide and steer us from lesson to lesson, adeptly leading us to that which we most need to learn. The Songlines originate in the Dreamtime, that in-between land we all inhabit in that brief instant before we fall asleep but just after we’re totally aware of what is going on around us.

As anyone who has spent any time around me knows, I once ran away from conventional existence and spent a year chasing dreams in Cayo Hueso (otherwise known as Key West). I had vowed at that time to never be ruled again by the norms and rules of cubicle life; to, as Walt Whitman had once written, suck the very marrow from the bones of life and let loose my barbaric yawp. But as fate, and perhaps the Songlines, would have it, I found myself departing the land of sun and “soon come” and buying parkas and wool socks in the land of “too damned cold.”

Now, leaving Key West was not in and of itself all that bad of a thing. What was far worse was leaving the Songlines. Upon returning to the everyday life of commuting and cubicle existence, I found myself becoming more and more withdrawn and removed from the effects (and lessons) of the Songlines. Subsequently, I’ve spent the better part of the past two years becoming more and more mired down in the rigmarole that living in a 4 x 5-foot upholstered space inflicts upon its inhabitants.

At least, until Monday. On Monday, I received a rather rude wakeup call. Something happened at the office that I very much did not want to happen.

Now how does all of this tie in to illicit music, you may ask? It just so happens that listening to music, however covertly, is verboten in the cubicle realm where I work. Even to pop the occasional CD into the old computer and listen via the headphones is off limits. Needless to say, this is a rule I break often.

I took an elicit music break in the middle of my funk, to indulge in a little Mr. Jimmy Buffett (specifically, his most recent album, Far Side of the World.) There came a point in the middle of the song entitled “Savannah, Fare You Well” that I realized I was as far astray from the Songlines as I could possibly be, and that to aggravate myself over something I didn’t want in the first place was truly the pinnacle of dimwittedness. Sometimes it takes a little music to point you back in the right direction.

I am far from perfect. Nor do I claim to have the best understanding of enlightenment among the human race. However, I do know when I’ve sold out. I’ve spent the better part of the past two years furthering myself down a path I never wanted to be on in the first place. It just took a few well-placed chords to remind me of why I was really here -- and it’s got nothing to do with a cubicle.

When you get in your cars to drive home this evening, pop in a favorite bit of music. Remember where it is you want to be, and remind yourself that nothing is out of your reach. You’ve just got to be daring enough to follow the Songlines.

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