You know what I discovered the other day that blew my mind? Jimi Hendrix didn’t read music, yet he played it like a god. He didn’t read music, yet he created a bible of sound. He didn’t read music but now many souls read his. He didn’t read music but Purple Haze still fills the souls of people today. He didn’t read music because he didn’t need to. He didn’t understand the noise because he simply spoke it from a place deep within his soul and maybe this is the secret to life. Maybe that's how he was able to create an ephemeral essence that lives well past his presence. Maybe tuning out how to play music and simply playing was his true stroke of genius.
Something spoke to him and he spoke back. He didn’t listen to the notes, he had a conversation with them; sitting and listening to the noise inside his head. Each note is a symphony to the soul from the soul, each note a mantra from his guitar. And, maybe this is how life is too? If I think about it; It wasn’t until I threw out the rule book on how to live and simply started living that I actually started living. Isn’t that a wild fucking concept?!
I never really knew what I wanted to be or where I wanted to go. I simply floated through existence in this passive-passive flow of asking for nothing and wishing for less. I accepted reality as I saw it but not for what it could be. It was always “Okay, I’ll go here. I’ll go there. I’ll go where I am told; the notes were played exactly how they have always been played. I didn’t care! Well, honestly that's too nice! I didn't fucking give a flying fucking fuck about the music of life. I was deaf to all of it. It was like I wasn’t even a passenger in my own life; I was lying in the boot next to the spare tyre and jack waiting for someone to rear-end me and put me outta my misery. I was living the life of so many others, that it was hard to decipher what parts were mine and what parts were others.
It was as if fear had a grip on me before I even knew what fear was. I guess I was scared or maybe I was stuck inside a reality not my own. Maybe it was simply safer to remain lying in the dark recesses of the boot than to take ahold of the steering wheel. Maybe it was safer to lie in the boot and feel life slip away from you the further it sped down the road. Maybe I found it safer to not exist when in reality existing is the safest damn fucking thing you can do. It wasn’t until I sat in the driver's seat and started driving through fogs of tears and self-discovery that I was able to start navigating the gravel roads of my past towards the highways of my dreams, and fuck have dreams arrived. I've somehow picked up a few magical hitchhikers on the way here. On the way to where I am at this exact moment.
I picked up art beyond the wildest of my dreams after passing a treacherous corner on Relationship Ave. I picked up emotional intelligence as I passed through the gates of therapy. I picked up a warm soul and a calming presence as I drove past the beach where my past selves go to chill. I picked up a vision like no other as I wandered around the lens of existence and I picked up souls akin to my own on every step of this journey. None of that would be driving with me, If I hadn’t off started driving. Just like how Purple Haze or Voodoo Child wouldn’t have filled the souls of many if Jimi hadn’t just started playing. Isn’t that a damn wild thought?