As I feel quite overwhelmed by all that has happened to the world these past few weeks I simply want to share with you a poem written by the great mystic scholar and poet Jelaluddin Balkhi known as "Rumi." He was born in Balkh Afghanistan about 800 years ago.
CRY OUT IN YOUR WEAKNESS
A dragon was pulling a bear into its terrible mouth.
A courageous man went and rescued the bear. There are such helpers in the world, who rush to save anyone who cries out. Like Mercy itself, they run toward the screaming.
And they can't be bought off. If you were to ask one of those, "Why did you come so quickly?" he or she would say, "Because I heard your helplessness."
Where lowland is, that's where water goes. All medicine wants is pain to cure.
And don't just ask for one mercy. Let them flood in. Let the sky open under your feet. Take the cotton out of your ears, the cotton of consolations, so you can hear the sphere-music.
Push the hair our of your eyes. Blow the phlegm from your nose, and from your brain.
Let the wind breeze through. Leave no residue in yourself from that bilious fever. Take the cure for impotence, that your manhood may shoot forth, and a hundred new beings come of your coming.
Tear the binding from around the foot of your soul, and let it race around the track in front of the crowd. Loosen the knot of greed so tight around your neck. Accept your new good luck.
Give your weakness to one who helps.
Crying out loud and weeping are great resources. A nursing mother, all she does is wait to hear her child.
Just a little beginning whimper, and she's there.
God created the child, that is, your wanting, so that it might cry out, so that milk might come.
Cry out! Don't be stolid and silent with your pain. Lament! And let the milk of loving flow into you.
The hard rain and wind are ways the cloud has to take care of us.
Be patient. Respond to every call that excites your spirit.
Ignore those that make you fearful and sad, that degrade you back toward disease and death.
I love jazz because it expresses things so deep that I can't transform in words.
I met John Pizzarelli.
The best show I ever attended was MASP in São Paulo Brazil.
The first jazz record I bought was a Baby Dodds CD.
My heroes on drums: Papa Jo Jones, Sid Catlett, Gene Krupa, Baby Dodds, Zutty Singleton, Ray Bauduc, Vernell Fournier,
Shelly Manne, Jimmy Cobb, Joe Morello, Daniel Humair, Kenny Clarke, Sonny Carr, Buddy Rich, Sam Woodyard, Cozy Cole,
Sonny Greer, Neil Peart, Carl Palmer, Tony Sbarbaro, Vic Berton, Edison Machado, Milton Banana, Rubens Barsotti.
My heroes in jazz: Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Chet Baker, Miles Davis, Ahmad Jamal, Coleman Hawkins, Teddy Wilson,
Barney Kessel, Lester Young, Johnny Hodges, Jelly Roll Morton.