February 2005 | Journeys
The Buddha and The Blues
by Steve Diamond
I’m walking along Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley as the sun sets like a fine gold and turquoise watercolor over the San Francisco Bay. I’d just flown in on Jet Blue, Boston to Oakland. As we took off, it was starting to snow. I never looked back. God, the Angels and the Invisible Masters were sending me back to the Promised Land—or as the governor appropriately calls it, Kali-fornia. Kali’s country, indeed.
I’d just ended a two-year spell in western Massachusetts as an itinerant writer working at Green Mountain Post Films (www.gmpfilms.com), the 30-year-old environmental and peace-oriented film production company run by Dan Keller and Charlie Light. They were working on a documentary about His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s meeting in New York City with a group of former prisoners who’d learned to meditate while in jail. The Gere Foundation had arranged this dialogue, and Richard Gere himself was present at some of the sessions, along with Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfeld and others. The former convicts were men and women of various ages from diverse walks of life who shared a determination not to be sent back to the pen. They also shared a conviction that meditating had gotten them through some pretty tough times.
In my backpack, I carried a 15-minute teaser for the film-in-progress, “Doing Time, Getting Free,” which included a section set to a powerful composition, “Christo Redentor,” performed by Bay Area harmonica blues master Charlie Musselwhite. The song plays a subtle part in setting the tone for this documentary, as both the film and tune are about finding redemption — a universal theme for all of us humans, incarcerated or not. I knew Musselwhite lived in the Bay Area, and I was hopeful I’d be able to get him to look at the edit.
At the corner of Shattuck and University, I noticed a stack of Common Ground magazines and picked one up. Some years ago, while working as Advertising Technician of the Sacred for the venerable Sedona Journal (an “all channeling, all the time,” monthly magazine), I’d talked with CG’s founder Andy Alpine. We’d had some laughs remembering Murshid “Sufi Sam” Lewis, one of my heroes. I only knew him from film, while Andy had known Sufi Sam personally. So I opened the December issue to see if Andy was still there and learned he was now founder emeritus, but more surprisingly, I noticed that an old acquaintance from the Bay State, Carl Nagin, was now the editor. The last time we’d seen each other was in 1998, at the 30th reunion of the Montague Farm commune in western Massachusetts. Carl had spent time there back in 1969, during our first tumultuous year as we all learned how to live on the land with wood heat and no money.
Browsing through the issue, I also noticed how the editorial content had expanded — from the strictly metaphysical, as I’d remembered it, to a much broader editorial canvas, that included the environment, community activism, health, politics and other arenas, in addition to spirituality. (Later that night, the woman I was subletting a room from in Oakland commented, “Yes, it’s so much better now, I’ve started reading it again.”)
In that issue, I also noticed in the magazine’s UnCommon Events column that House of Blues radio producer, Ben Manilla would be discussing a new book he’d edited, Elwood’s Blues, (an anthology of interviews that Dan Ackroyd conducted with blues men and women), at the Booksmith in San Francisco. Special guest, Charlie Musselwhite, would also speak at the event. Ain’t it sweet how the angelic forces arrange “coincidences” in our lives?
A few nights later, I’m at the Booksmith as a nice crowd assembles in the back of the store. Manilla gives a penetrating but humorous presentation about the blues, complete with a few audio clips of artists who appear in the anthology. (Manilla also produced a landmark 13-part radio series on the blues, which is airing on over 400 stations.) Introducing Musselwhite, Manilla said with a wry smile: “And after Chicago, Charlie came out here to San Francisco and decided to stay. He’s obviously a man who knows a scene when he sees one.” Everyone laughed.
Then Musselwhite took the podium and shared a bit of his long run as one of the pioneer white bluesmen. Born in the Mississippi Delta, he spoke with humility about his musical gift from God and how the blues “gets you over” the hard times, the painful times.
“It’s the sound itself that releases some of the pain, and reminds you to hold on, to let hope once again appear in your heart and soul,” he told the small crowd.
Sitting there, holding the DVD of the Dalai Lama film, Musselwhite’s words reminded me of what the prisoners in the film had said about meditation, how it helped them get through the hard times while doing time, as if there were a correlation between the Buddha’s teachings and the redemptive power of the blues. They both help you “get over” — one with sound, the other with silence.
Later, I gave Musselwhite my copy of “Doing Time, Getting Free” explaining a little of what the film was about.
“Yes, I’d be interested in the project,” he said. “I have some friends in jail and also friends who are Buddhists. I can see where the song would have some reflection.” We talked for just a bit more, and as I was about to go, he put his palms together, prayerfully and bowed slightly, saying, “Namaste,” the Sanskrit phrase which means “I salute the divinity in you and in all beings.”
It was a moment I’ll remember for a long time.
A simple meeting of the Buddha and the blues.
Steve Diamond is the author of the memoir What the Trees Said: Life on a New Age Farm and the novel Panama Red. He can be reached by e-mail
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