I am a native Kansan, and other than conferences and vacations, have always been in Kansas. Thus, physically at least, I've only migrated back and forth over a 400 mile stretch of the plains. Even in that, however, I've been honed and sharpened by every different landscape and their varied inhabitants. From the slow moving west, I've learned to appreciate the wide open space, the sunsets and stars, and a good (long) conversation. From the faster paced north east, I developed an appreciation for all things cultural and was first exposed to the peoples of the rest of the planet (at KSU I volunteered in the international student center). I settled down in a small town, Arkansas City, for over a decade, and there I rooted in community and service.
Then, when my father died, I returned to my native land of SW Kansas, thinking I could thrive anywhere...but finding I was malnourished, I returned to the greater Wichita area. Here, I find it possible to have the best of both worlds: when I want to be anonymous I can easily meld into the metro mix...when I want to stand up, stand out, or take a stand, I can generally find groups, like the Peace and Social Justice Center of South Central Kansas, roll up my sleeves and get involved.
Another migration I have experienced is one of spirit. I was born into a non-practicing Methodist household. I became a flaming southern Baptist. I found it too strictured. I've visited almost every house of faith, but I have yet to call one home. Some call it waffling, others exploring. I consider matters of the spirit to be paramount, and I resent those who label me as "lukewarm." It seems the more important something is to me, the longer I take to take hold. (It took me over 40 years to warm up to having children, for example.) So, in short, I'm moving all over the place on the topic of faith.
I'll attach my migration in music. It's not terribly interesting, but it's me.
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My percussion migrations
In the sixth grade, I was mercilessly beaten out of a position playing drums by an accomplished young drummer, Tracy Coffindaffer, who played in a family band. Worse than that: Tracy was a girl! I never tried out for anything again. Instead, I became a wanna-be percussionist. When driving alone, I’d pound out “My Sharona” on the steering wheel of my old AMC Javelin. When bored, I’d tap my fingers in some elaborate rhythm playing on the eight track in my head. Then, in the late 1980’s, I was inspired by Rick Allen, the drummer from Def Leppard. In concert, bathed in laser lights, his big hair tossing all about, he flailed away on his trap set. I was all-the-more awestruck that he could do all that with only one arm (he had lost the other in an auto accident.) I looked at my spare arm with disgust, idly wondering if maybe, just maybe…
…but I kept the arm and kept the faith. I gradually became more attuned to what the music stores sell as “world beat” music. I contracted steel drum bands for luaus, and, in spite of maturity and better judgment, I beat on a few oil barrels in private, just to get the feel of it. Next I encountered STOMP, a percussion/dance troupe that continues to astound me. They take common objects (brooms, matchbooks, hubcaps) and turn them into instruments. On the drive home after the first encounter, I tapped and slapped at everything in the cab, including my wife’s knee. She just smiled. I was getting my groove.
Tracy Coffindaffer be damned.
As faith and fate and good fortune would have it, along came an accomplished percussionist who was eager to start an ensemble. (In fact, he had been a member of one of those steel drum bands I had hired, years ago.) I signed up before he finished announcing the opportunity. Though I cannot read music, I’ve been learning rhythms from Latin America, Africa, and the Middle east. I’ve had the opportunity to play progressive, cutting-edge, interpretive works that I did not even know existed. I’m forever indebted to Chris Mayer and the percussion ensemble he founded, Temporal Mechanics Union. Learning some of the history, the spiritual and traditional significance of the rhythms, has been an added bonus beyond measure.
Travis, a friend of mine, told me about drum circles. He and several thousand others hitchhike to Seattle, get naked or nearly-so, hop up on natural supplements, and play drums for about a week. No one is certain how long they play; it’s all a bit of a blur—but unforgettable, anyway—as he told it.
It was several years before I sought out a drum circle. I don’t play that well to begin with, and I knew I would do worse if chemically enhanced. I don’t have hair like Rick Allen anymore, and I’m a father of two. I don’t look too cool drumming even with my clothes on (some fear I’m having a seizure). Besides, I didn’t want to get a sunburn where the sun shouldn’t shine. So, I circled the outskirts of drum circles for far too long.
Finally, I found a friendly circle, an accomplished and agreeable group of people. I really love knocking out a rhythm with them whenever I can. A real bond develops as we bring our varied talents and drums into play. It’s like a conversation when drummers exchange rhythms in a call and response. Drum Circles are touted as therapy, as a way to get in touch with your tribal self. They have a long history and are steeped in spirituality and ritual across all cultures. Though I have not had an out of body experience or been visited by my ancestors, I can say it is therapeutic. Nothing feels better than getting lost in a rhythm. Hand drummers play bare handed, shedding even jewelry and watches (one fellow was playing even with one arm in a sling last weekend). Drum circles are also, it seems, spontaneous community. In this day of instant gratification, it is an interesting paradox that the oldest of rituals can unite a body of fast-paced people.
I experienced this recently with the Rhythm Nation Drum Circle, at Harvey County’s Camp Hawk. We arrived late, but I just sat in and joined the rhythm. In a drum circle, one can become attuned to the different tones and styles, voices, if you will, of one’s fellow drummers. Together, we create something timeless, meaningful, and frankly, big fun! It was only afterwards that I surveyed the circle, noticing people from all walks of life: executives, educators, farmers; Dead Heads, Native Americans, WASP’s; young (my 2 month old was there) and old. The magic of it all may have nothing to do with bringing down the spirits or pumping out the Life Rhythm. It might just be that we find some time to be together.
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