gimme a beat....

I've been thinking a lot about rhythm lately...not that I have any. I have been pronounced whiter than most in the catagory. Nevertheless, I enjoy it to the point that I always thought Anton was the coolest one in the Worlds Most Dangerous Band.

It's not limited to music, you know. Rhythm seems to be manifest in every living thing. There are horses on our farm - retired race horses, we're told - and when they run, they pound the terra firma with a steady ka-da-fump, ka-da-fump that is a pleasure to the ears. The crickets out back chirp a caustic beat, resting occassionally (to take a sip of coffee, I presume) and then the beat goes on. The human heart is the metronome of our soul. It keeps a lazy pace as we lounge by the pool or races stucatto when our child falls into said pool, but nevertheless, it doesn't stop so long as live breathes within us. The ocean, while not alive in itself, is host to the greatest range of species on our planet. It also bulges off the side of that planet in sycronicity with an orbiting moon, giving us tides so regular that we can set our watches by them....tide in, tide out, day in, day out.

Life was meant to be like that. Energy in, energy out. Maybe a change of pace from time to time, but always at pace. Work. Rest. Worship. Grow. Work. Rest. Worship. Grow. WRWG / WRWG / WRWG rolls across a screen somewhere like an internal EKG, telling us that steadiness is hardwired to readiness.

I've been thinking a lot about rhythm lately because I'm a man who has little or none (can one have little rhythm?). It's not that I'm missing an initial of the WRWG cycle - it's that I'm missing the pattern. Some days are WG. Others are WWR. Some are just W. Very little feels rythmic and very little feels right. I am neither steady nor ready, and I'm pretty sure that one comes before the other.

Sometimes life is a waltz. It's predictable, albeit circular. Other times it's jazz - intricate, dark and a little smoky, but that's the sort of place where the best percussion is found. Right now, I'm living a punk rock life (with apologies to punks everywhere). It's large, loud and erractic. I remember what it was like to finish a set looking forward to the next. Right now, nothing looks better than the bus.

I'm craving the beat. I must have it to live.

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