I Drummed Until My Hands Swelled So Bad My Fingers Cracked

And That Was On Towards The Second-To-Last Night

Some of the best drumming in my [this] life, this Summer Solstice.

I left the bodhran by the fire too long one night; the crossbar split and the riveted head detached, so I invested my drumming time with a rim drum-- an ashiko. It was quite a different experience...

Much less mobile-- I had no strap, no carry. So I sat more than is my norm whilst drumming. I did oft on a log, oft on knees mounting the drum.

There were "firecracker" drummers all around me-- women and men that I will be sycophant to my entire remainder on Momma Earth-- and it was an absolute BEAUTY to find a pulse amongst these Kin.

Pulse I found, and kept. And found I could variate, could flirt with, and still keep pulse for Drummers like Raven, and Chris [LOVED bein' your pulse-podna, man!], and Steve, and Kasey, and Bongo Bob, and...

And MYSELF.

Oh, YEAH-- l'il ol humble ME.

When I selected band as an elective class in Jr. High, the only seat available was trumpet. I took it, and pinched my lips the entire time I played. I wanted percussion; I wanted to DRUM.

I DID this week. I found myself.

One point, for some immeasurable stretch, I was THERE. I heard EVERY DRUM. I beat my hands in time, and as I heard every other drum there I stopped TRYING to fit in; I stopped THINKING about what I was "trying" to do, and found my-- no, no; found THE pulse. I WAS the pulse... I wasn't trying-- I was THERE contributing.

That's powerful shit, my people. So powerful, I tell ya, I saw a Bright Being bridging another Dimension. But that's another story...

I've drummed for better than 70 hours over the last week and a half. My hands need rest...

Slainte, folks...

Cygnus