Hot Hands - Herbie Hancock & Me (Notes from Journals & Journey's Past)

(I love the synchronicity of opening an old journal not knowing the year or time of year it was filled and finding that it perfectly coincides with the same time a year or some prior. This morning, I pulled a journal from one of my many book bags and this is what I found written a year ago to the day.)

I don't know whose hands were hotter last night, mine or Herbie Hancock's. The winner of twelve Grammy awards played for two and a half hours on the Ryman Auditorium stage starting out slowly and eventually rocking folks to their feet in the Mother Church of country music.

Our hands were on fire, his with music, mine from mincing jalapenos, six to be exact for peach salsa. Being a rapid mincer (no relation to Mensa) I minced and chopped hastily with ungloved hands, not realizing what was getting into my skin. It wasn't until later while washing my hands, that the water somehow activated the pepper's sting which started again this morning after I showered.

I didn't start out wanting to make salsa. I felt compelled as if doing so was hardwired into my brain ensuring survival on a primitive level. Yet come to think of it, I was ensuring the survival of my creative, sensory self for as I chopped peaches, red pepper and onion prior to the jalapenos I noted the satisfaction experienced in the holding of food as well as the vibrant colors accumulating in the pot.

Just as I suspect Herbie Hancock cannot not make music, I cannot not create be it with words, images or food. I can attempt not to, but doing so leaves me grumpy and detached.

This is how I tend my plot in the Universal Garden of the Soul. What music does for Herbie Hancock, color, texture and pattern do for me.

What are your hands and heart on fire to do in the garden of your soul, in the greater garden of our world?

Imagine the Shift.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 22 August 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com