The Look of Zen
For nigh on ten years I've had the privilege of being acquainted with a lady who recently answered the question, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
When I think of Zen, I simply think of the concept of being without consciousness of worry. Many more technical definitions of the word exist, of course...but above all, it's always struck me as the state of peace one attains when engaged in an activity that causes the daily stresses and hardships of the world to gently fall away--they melt into oblivion as one achieves a state of being devoid of worry, of stress, and of all the various nagging difficulties that we encounter in our day-to-day lives that tend to bog us down in stress and strain.
A dark-haired, dark-eyed gal steeped in Old Tyme tradition and music by the name of Valley showed me what this amazing phenomenon looks like. In fact, in reflecting on the times I've seen her in years past, she's always been an example of Southern hospitality and how tranquil life can be when one takes the time to enjoy the simple pleasures life has to offer.
Although I can't recall the first time I met her, the first memory of her that comes to mind was on a cold winter night in Belhaven on someone's screened-in front porch. In fact, it seems this might have been the first porch-pickin' I'd ever attended. I don't remember her having an instrument back then, though that never stopped her from being involved in the music. I seem to recall Valley sitting on a couch out on that old front porch swaddled in a heavy coat and blankets, hands protected by soft-looking gloves, and resting in those hands was a considerably depleted bottle of Jim Beam whiskey. What stands out in my memory, however, has nothing to do with her drinking the liquor; rather, she took that bottle and blew across the top of it, creating a makeshift jug to add to the cacophony of guitars, banjos, mandolins, fiddles, voices, and upright bass.
It just so happened that when I moved to Asheville, Valley had arrived there ahead of me. When I was there searching for a job and a place to live not long before the move, Valley graciously offered up her guest room and made certain to involve me in the pickin' festivities--a tradition that she's always carried with her wherever she kicks off her boots in the evening. I remember her house as being warm and inviting; I remember old, dark wood and the smell of freshly brewed coffee and juevos rancheros cooking early in the morning.
I wonder, though, if the most welcoming aspect of the house was simply her presence there. Upon arrival in her front yard, she walked out to meet me and I received her trademark welcome: a smile, a hug, and a peck on the cheek. No matter where that greeting takes place, it's always apt to make one feel as though they're being welcomed home, no matter how far away the place one calls "home" may be.
Not long ago I heard on the wind that she and her friends had put together a bluegrass band and were playing in a restaurant I've been a patron of for quite some time--back in the place we both originally called home. I eagerly went out to see them, though I didn't quite know what to expect, as through the years I've heard Valley with a song, a guitar, a fiddle and a banjo. To see her with an upright bass--something near and dear to my heart for some time now--brought about the answer to my earlier question: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
That, my friends, is simple. It's the sound and look of a lady free of troubles from the outside world playing an upright bass. The look of peace and contentment on her face that night as she stood with her husband and friends and swayed with the music they made was unlike anything I can recall seeing in years--if not in my entire life.
Music has long been the one force that can truly soothe my soul. Whether I'm making it or taking it in, it engulfs everything that could possibly be bothering me and sweeps it away, replacing it with a feeling of well-being unlike anything ever has. Through troubles and tribulations, it's the one tried and true spell that can be cast over me to bring me back to a place of peace and harmony--pun most definitely intended. But as much as it soothes me, I count myself fortunate to be among the crowds who have seen Valley take in that music and simply be in that place where no darkness can reach.
