There were two monks in a monastery
doing their daily rituals. They were about to bow to their deity. One
got on his knees and said "Oh master, I am nothing, I don't exist, all there is
is You." The next monk bowed down even lower and said, "Oh great one, I am
less than nothing! I don't exist and I never did. You are all there
is! In the corner, a janitor was sweeping the temple and watching the monks.
He thought to himself, "Hmmmm, that looks pretty good! I think I'll try that."
He walked over to the deity and bowed while the monks watched him. He said,
"Oh, mighty one, I too am nothing, you are everything." As the two monks looked
on with disdain, one said to the other, "Humph! How dare he! Look who
thinks he's nothing!"
This joke is from a book
I've been re-reading lately titled
"Effortless Mastery
- Liberating the Master Musician Within" by Kenny Werner. I like to go back to this book every
so often because it's such a classic on opening up the creative
pathways, and musicianship in general. Werner's primary message is that opening
up the creative pathways is mostly about not closing them - not delivering those
internal messages to ourselves that say we're no good, or somebody's better, or
we sound bad. Werner relates a feeling that probably resonates with many musicians:
"I was always either very high or very low. When I would hear a pianist play
better than me, I would want to die! I would literally feel worthless.
I had come to rely so heavily on my talent for validation that I couldn't face not
being God's gift to music."
Most musicians got into playing an instrument because of their love of music.
But their joy of listening to music is often trampled by the pain of hearing someone
who plays better than they do. As Werner relates:
"One day we were listening to Horowitz
playing - I don't remember which piece but my friend was listening joyously while
I was biting my fingernails. I was thinking so much I could barely hear the
music. Thoughts like "Oh, that playing is so great...it's really painful to
hear it!...This means that I am nothing ... unless ... if I practice eight hours
a day for the next 20 years ..." raced through my mind. My mind often behaved
like that. Just at that moment my friend put his hand on my shoulder, and
I jumped. He startled me. When I turned around he was smiling.
He must have been reading my mind, or at least my body language, because he said
"BE KIND TO YOURSELF!" This statement uttered at that moment was revelatory.
It showed me the folly of my thoughts. At that moment I was able to let go,
and suddenly I HEARD THE MUSIC! Horowitz was playing so exquisitely !
I felt reborn (at least temporarily). I was sitting there enjoying the music
for the first time as a listener rather than as a compulsive musician, one whose
self-worth was on the line every time he heard someone else play well."
This reminds me of books on golf
psychology where much of the work is learning how to separate ourselves from our
shots. The mentally weak golfer reacts to a bad shot by thinking "I'm a bad golfer." The mentally tough golfer reacts to the bad shot by thinking "That shot was bad but I'm a good golfer." It 's the learning to separate and protect
the person from the action that creates the strength to not collapse when things
aren't going well.
Werner's message is
part psychology and part Zen philosophy, and he integrates them in a compelling
manner. He examines many of the paradoxical conditions that musicians confront,
such as when we most want to sound good, we probably won't because we'll be afraid
to commit to what we're about to play. When you don't try as hard to be good,
you play better. By not caring, you play better.
That's the heart of
the book - that fear robs our strength as musicians and gets in the way. For
music to be real it has to come from a deeper place than the little critical mind,
and listeners can hear the difference. As Werner says "You'll find yourself
more free and more powerful if you assume that all of the notes you play are the
most beautiful sounds you've ever heard."
In other words,
"There are no wrong notes."
So what does Werner recommend we
do to achieve this more enlightened condition? Werner lays out a set of guidelines,
exercises and meditations to use with an accompanying CD. From my own experience
with it, I can say that the approach works. No, I haven't achieved the fear-free
musical existence of a Zen master, but it has markedly increased my ability to "let
go" and disperse the fears when they arise in a playing or practice situation.
Some of his exercises are right out Zen 101, such as detached observation, but he
makes them very workable in a musical context. He provides tips on specific
conditions, such as a fear of
practicing. And the meditations provide a means
of focusing on
positive thoughts, and being able to draw on those when in a pressure
situation. Overall, a classic for musicians with an interest in achieving
their most creative potential.
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