Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Monk In The City

by Chris Fici, NYC, 2009

Living as a monk in the city
I walk concrete, praying for my soul
And yours, to light, to dance away
Tones and basslines, brass and dirt, jazz of the heart

A monk in the city
Thelonious, smoky groove in Minton's Playhouse, fingernails hitting simplicity
Glasses clinking, escaping rat races and red lights
Renouncing the smog and the haze, scraping off the soot
Particles of gold on the black minor keys of his piano
Blue monk, dropping off-beat chords
Pleading for the peeps to awaken, straight with no chaser
To throw off the bills not posted, the unreal dreams, the illusion of body and mind
In the free movement of his finger-joints
Monk is saying, he is living, he is willing Simple Living and High Thinking

A fearless seeker in the city
The Trane, the Coltrane, here comes the Coltrane, 42nd Street stop
From the tunnels of darkness, a Love Supreme
An Ascencion, his gift to us, vibrating Om
His rainbows, his quantum tones, sheets of sounds sublime
Are piercing this mundane prison cell, flying round the rings of Saturn
If we live like the Trane sounds
Like the Trane moves, like the Trane feels
Relentless for the Truth, for the Divine
For the Supreme Truth, the Never-Ending Love
Oh! How our life will shine, transparent souls
Giving our self selflessly, from me to you
I owe my heart's outward bound to the Trane
I'll always ride the Coltrane, going where he goes
We'll meet in the world of knowledge and bliss
Notes eternal, beyond space and time, Divine Love

The bandleader, the heavy hand of the city
Down in the underground, taking the A Train, Charlie Mingus aboard
Behind his big bad bold bass, a whole orchestra of faces and races
Doing big, like the swami said, we have to do big
We no longer have any excuses, we can no longer clown around
Five Spot, Charlie's big fingers resounding feelings of freedom
Souls seeking pleasure, in their natural condition
Ensembles of saints of all colors
Now rises the trombones, the xylophones, colors and feelings of spring
Mingus Ah Um, blues and roots, east coasting
In his large persona, in the moods left behind, we, like the alchemists
Taking gold from the potion, we take his ambition to the stars and beyond
Letting our children hear the music, letting ourselves flow into a new world

The muted horn of the city
Sometimes we feel kind of blue, we need the man with the horn
Like our mood has become a bitches brew
On the corner, 1st and 1st, life is more, it's big fun
Trying to get up with it, trying to get up with the star people
Miles, with his knees bent, sunglasses on, even in the dark basement club
Muse of my creative urge, taking the first thought that comes, shaping it, trusting it
Endlessly evolving
In between the bitter and the sweet of the note of his trumpet, there is the bliss of separation
Lovers, friends, soulmates, here and gone again
In a slient way, on Village sidewalks, round about midnight
Yearning, the only reality of the spirit
From me to you
The Dark Magus, magician exploring the depths of the hidden heart
The hidden identity
Miles, oh my man Miles, Miles in the sky, Miles as the sorcerer
Conflicted man, dualities and strife, the edge to your sound so round
One step at a time
Inside your sound so round the heart of the spiritual man, the spiritual woman
We live wondering where our sweet Lord is, where is the love that is our birthright
Where is our eternal happiness, lost and promised again
Yearning, pleasing in his sound so round, when we will leave this Babylon, and go to the Promised Land

Living as a monk in the city
I walk concrete, praying for my soul
And yours, to light, to dance away
Tones and basslines, brass and dirt, jazz of the heart


Carana Renu said...

Love it!

Caitanya dasa said...

Please read my letter called "Why I am leaving ISKCON"


Your servant,
Caitanya dasa