“One,” I answered.
“Remove time and space and tell me how many people were at the scene.”
“One,” I answered again.
“How many people are there in the world?”
“One.”
“How many in the galaxy?”
Again I had to answer, “One.”
“And is this one person sick or well?”
“Well, I hope,” I answered.
"Then make it so!” With that comment he turned and looked out the window. I offered no response.
While driving, I reflected on the many new ideas Michael had introduced me to in the short time since I’d met him. Many things I’d witnessed him do were impossible, or so I’d thought. I longed to learn how to do every one of them, and he was the perfect one to teach me, or so I thought. Somehow, he seemed to hold the key to unlock hidden parts of my brain, parts that never before existed, or so I thought.
I developed a new sense of respect for him that day. Observing how he and Clyde cared for that injured man allowed me to see another side of him. I knew that Michael was crazy and often acted that way, but watching him pull it all together in a crisis like that was incredible. He conducted himself in a serious and direct manner, not with the questionable and quirky behavior that I was used to.
I remember once hearing him complain about a theory being taught by a highly reputable physics professor at a prestigious university. Michael was outraged, claiming that the professor’s teachings were based on theory instead of experience or direct knowledge and therefore should not be taught as truth. Realizing that the professor in question was teaching at a university half a country away, I asked Michael how he knew what was on his curriculum.
“I told you; knowledge is in the air,” he answered. “I just need to get that professor to realize it.”
Not totally believing in his sincerity, I asked him to call the professor if he had a problem with him.
“Good idea,” he responded.
Without hesitation he picked up the phone and dialed. I wondered how he knew the number and whether or not he would repay me for the long distance call. But what perplexed me most was hearing him talk to the physics professor.
Michael spoke in a tone I’d never heard him use. He used words that were bigger than my apartment. I didn’t believe he was actually speaking to anyone until, as if reading my thoughts, he asked me to silently listen in. Picking up the other phone, I eavesdropped while he gave the physics professor a physics lesson. I was dumbfounded. I had no idea Michael knew anything about the subject. I couldn’t understand a thing he was saying, but the professor seemed to follow along easily, although hesitantly.
I almost laughed out loud when the professor asked Michael how he knew so much about matter. Michael responded that it didn’t matter. It was what he knew that was important. He told the professor to allow matter to teach him about physics rather than allowing physics to teach him about matter. Then, after showing his students how to do the same, they could have group discussions based on observation, not one-sided lectures based on theory. The conversation ended with the professor apologizing to Michael and promising to modify his lectures and his teaching methods.
Remembering how Michael spoke so fluidly about physics with the professor while also being able to seamlessly blend with a homeless man on the street made me wonder about him and his mysterious knowledge. It was remarkable that he could be equally comfortable dealing with people as diverse as a physics professor, a homeless man, and a wannabe bass player. He’d also just healed an injured man in the middle of a crowd of onlookers by singing to him. I didn’t know what to think.
Hearing him speak about tone raised more new questions in my mind. From what I’d heard him say, I could alter someone’s body, mind, or attitude, just by altering the tone. Was it really possible? I thought about how I felt when listening to some of my favorite musicians. I loved their tones even though each one was different, and I realized that my mood often changed whenever I heard them play. Was it their tones that affected me? I was starting to see tone in a much broader way, and I finally understood how it is used to fill up a dance floor. But how could I use it to do other things, more positive things, more mysterious things? That, I would have to explore.
Michael hadn’t specified where he wanted to go, so I drove him to my house. I decided to wait until we were inside before I bombarded him with more questions.
Upon our arrival, I found a surprise waiting for me.
MEASURE NINE
Phrasing
Anything, including physical actions, can be phrased.
When we reached my house, Uncle Clyde was already there. Not outside where most people would be waiting; he was inside sitting in the chair, of course, where Michael’s friends seemed to feel right at home.
Don’t ask me how he got there before we did. Once we’d left the accident, Michael and I got into the car and drove straight home. As far as I knew, Clyde was still walking away when we left. The fact that he was already inside the house didn’t surprise or bother me even though I knew I’d locked the door. I was happy to see him. I hadn’t felt comfortable leaving him at the scene. I’d wanted to pick him up, but Michael seemed to know better.
“Hello, Uncle Clyde.”
“Howdy do, son.” Uncle Clyde seemed relaxed in my home. He was sitting in the same spot both Michael and Sam had been. I guess Clyde will be doing the teaching today.
“I can see that finding the key isn’t necessary for you either,” I joked.
He looked at Michael and they shared a boyish smile.
"That was amazing what you guys did out there,” I commented.
"Thanks. We can’t take all the credit, though,” Clyde remarked. “Since Life was involved, she deserves some of it.”
“So, I guess you decided that life is alive then.”
“Oh, we already knew that. We were just trying to figure out how anyone could disagree.”
I noticed that Clyde was now talking in what I would call a normal dialect. I wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate to comment about it or not, but I decided to anyway.
“Uncle Clyde, I noticed that your voice is different now. Why did you change the way you talk?”
Uncle Clyde looked at Michael before responding. “We change the way we talk according to the situation we are in or the desired effect we want to create. People react certain ways in response to how we act. You understand how the tone of your voice can change the meaning of what you say, right? Well, it can also change the meaning of what you play. I know that Michael already talked to you about that. So understand this: certain vibrations and situations can be created by the words and phrases we use. That’s why we choose them carefully. Because of how I act, talk, and live, people usually leave me alone. And I’s likes ta be left alone.”
“Remember,” Michael added, “actions, as well as words, are vibrations, and how we put them together can produce different vibrations, sort of like notes. An individual note sounds one way and produces a certain vibration. A group of notes put together produces different vibrations. A group of chords will produce altogether different vibrations. For example, a group of vibrations can produce a scale. It can be a major, minor, diminished, or any type of scale. These scales produce different sounds and feelings. A longer group of notes, scales, chords, or words strung together is called a phrase. Now a phrase, put together in a particular way, can cause miraculous things to happen.”
"The common person relates phrases to words only,” Uncle Clyde added. “We musicians go a little further and add notes into the phrase category. Michael and I know that anything, including physical actions, can be phrased, and that is what helps us do what we do. You see, all the elements of Music can be phrased, not just notes. How to use these different elements is what you’ve been learning.”
Once again, it was new information for me. And, once again, only some of it made sense. I knew that certain phrases sounded better than others, but
I didn’t understand how to actually use phrasing to produce a desired effect. I did understand that all things could be grouped or phrased. At least, I thought I did.
“Listen son, how old are you?” Clyde asked.
“I’m twenty-five.”
“Let’s see now. That means you’ve been alive for a little over 9,000 days. If you had a dollar for each day that you’ve been alive you might not even be able to buy a new car. Think about that. Now let’s say that you make it to fifty years old. That’s only 18,250 days. Even if you live to be seventy, you’re still only about 25,550 days old, not including leap years. A dollar a day and you still can’t buy a house. If we were to attach the same value to our days that we do to our money, we might understand how precious little time we have here on this planet.”
I’d never thought about that. The old man’s ideas were as wild as Michael’s, and I was impressed with his rapid-fire addition. I couldn’t do that. I wasn’t sure where his dialogue was headed, but my mom always told me to respect my elders. Since he wasn’t finished, I kept listening.
“Now let’s look at how many of these 25,550 days are spent doing nuthin’,” Clyde continued. “Let’s say that you sleep eight hours a day. That comes out to one day’s worth of sleep every three days, a total of 8,516 days. Subtract that from the original 25,550 and you are left with only 17,034 days. That’s fewer days than if you live to be fifty. Now add in your early years when most of your big decisions are made for you, the hours spent watching TV, time spent being sick, time spent working a job you didn’t like, and days that were just flat out wasted for one reason or another. Now how much time do you think is left? Just a few thousand days, that’s all. And that’s taking for granted you make it to see your seventieth birthday. That’s not much time for you to become who you say you want to be unless yous learn ta use yo’ mind.”
Clyde pointed to his head and then to me. Scooting to the edge of his seat, he lowered his voice to emphasize his next point.
“Now listen here, son. How much of your precious little time is spent really becoming who you choose to be? Do you know? Actually all of it is, but you don’t know that it’s you doing the choosing. How much of that time is spent consciously making yo’self better? Not much. We can probably count that time in weeks, or even days.
“If you were to look back over yo’ Life, you could find time frames when yo’ actions did produce the outcome you were looking for. For example: you spent a few weeks learning how to walk, and you succeeded; you spent a few months learning how to talk, and you succeeded; you’ve spent years learning how to play the bass guitar, and you have succeeded. All the things that you’ve held yo’ mind to, you have accomplished, or will accomplish. You can believe that! And all of these time frames can be viewed as phrases. Normally, when talking about time, we call them phases. Both terms are correct, and even the spelling of the words gives a clue to their relation. ”
Clyde was putting out so many interesting ideas that I was having a hard time keeping up. I was glad when he finally paused. It would allow me time to digest his words, or so I thought. Michael didn’t allow it. He stepped forward taking advantage of Clyde’s recess.
"There is only one reason that you ever fail at anything,” Michael stated, “and that is because you eventually change your mind. That’s it!” Michael raised both hands in the air to stress his point. “Like Clyde told you,” he continued, “anything and everything you have ever decided to do, you have succeeded, or will succeed, at doing. It may take you a day, a year, or twelve lifetimes, but if you hold your mind affixed on the idea, it will come forth. It has to. That is the law!” He looked over at Clyde, and they nodded at each other in agreement.
They were making bold statements. I’d never thought about those ideas before that day, and at that time, I wasn’t sure if I believed them. They both made it appear so simple, too simple, which raised a lot of questions in my mind.
"The only reason I fail is that I change my mind?” Did he mean just me, or was it true for everyone? Was it true at all? And what was this “law” Michael had talked about? The comment about holding an idea for “twelve lifetimes,” that was crazy talk as far as I was concerned. I would’ve liked to have questioned them about it then, but they left me little time to think, let alone raise questions. I suspect they did so on purpose.
It took years before I realized what they were talking about. I eventually thought about all the things I’d ever learned, from tying my shoes to algebra. Well, I never really learned algebra, but whatever I’d decided to learn and continued to learn, I’d eventually succeeded at learning. The things I’d failed at, especially the things I repeatedly failed at, I eventually stopped trying to learn. Michael and Clyde were right. I had simply changed my mind. Even though there were still things I’d not as yet mastered, I couldn’t think of a single instance to refute their claim.
Uncle Clyde interrupted my thoughts. “So what I was saying before Michael chimed in is this: your Life is made up of a string of many different phrases. Most of these phrases were put together unconsciously. Now that you realize you only have a matter of days on this planet, it may be wise for you to start living consciously. The choice is always yours.” He nodded to let us both know that he was finished.
“Whew!” I sighed. “I never realized that our time here was so short.”
“Most people don’t, until it is too late,” Clyde added.
“Okay, I’m starting to feel a little depressed now. Cheer me up somebody. Let’s talk about music again. Can we?”
“Music,” Michael stated, “is what we have been talking about all along. Call it Life or call it Music—there is no difference except that most people’s musical lifespan is much shorter. And only when the separation disappears for you will Music become a part of who you are.
“You can see how setting up certain phrases in your Life can produce desired results days, years, or decades later. Musical phrases can be set up in the same way. If you are playing a show, what you choose to play at the start of the night can determine how the listener will hear you later in the show. You can use certain musical phrases to ‘set up’ his ear or his emotions for something you choose to play or do later.”
I understood most of what Michael was saying, but I wasn’t sure if I fully understood his “setting up the listener” concept. As I was contemplating that idea Uncle Clyde started playing his harmonica. He sounded so good that I wanted to join in with my bass, but I remembered to listen first. What I heard sounded great, but it didn’t make me believe that he was the best in the world (as Michael had said), at least not yet.
Clyde started by playing simple and repetitive phrases that were common to harmonica players. I’d heard harmonica players play these types of lines many times before. Realizing that he was playing a blues progression, I finally joined in. Once I started playing, I noticed how in the pocket he was. His feel was incredible. Even though he was repeating the same simple phrases over and over, it was starting to sound better and better.
Just as I started to wonder if he was ever going to play anything different, he changed his pattern. He started slowly building upon the phrases he’d set up in the beginning. After a few more choruses he began to solo on his simple blues harp like no one I’d ever heard in the past, playing notes and phrases I never believed could come from that instrument. And then, to my surprise, he took it up another notch. He started playing amazing lines and phrases while humming different ones at the same time. It was so incredible that I wanted to stop and listen, but I didn’t. He bobbed his head, rocked his body from side to side, and stomped his feet, adding to the excitement.
After about ten minutes of the most unbelievable harmonica playing I’d ever heard, he went back to the simple phrase he’d started with. For some reason, it sounded better now, much better than before. It sounded and felt like home.
Uncle Clyde was an incredible musician. Then I understood what Michael was talking about. I looked at Michael, and he
gave me a reasurring nod. I still couldn’t understand why Uncle Clyde chose to live the way he did—a homeless man living under a bridge. He could be making loads of money playing or teaching music. Trying to figure that out by myself was way too puzzling, so I asked him about it.
The Music Lesson Page 17