Greetings from Sao Paulo, Brazil on a gorgeous springtime morning. As I sat and had my morning coffee, I was touched nearly to tears reading an email from a friend back in L.A. (a hippie like me.........) who was simply acknowledging a sad anniversary: today is the 35th year that he has been pushed away from his home, Beirut. A place he admits, is torn apart. Destroyed. His home does not exist anymore in any place except his soul. Yet he STILL cannot give up hope. He STILL dreams of being there again one day, even amidst the darkness. His thoughts and honesty touched me deeply. A glimpse of what-was and what-could be again, now encased in ember within his mind, never to go away, no matter how much time passes, no matter how much destruction, killing and hatred takes over. He left with it intact, never to see what-was again. Destroyed. Yet decades later, after war after war that seem to never end, he still has hope. Even if its only a dream. I was saddened thru empathy. I thought to myself: how would I feel if my home did not exist? How would I feel if the forces of darkness, strife, hatred, killing and warfare robbed me and those that I love of a place that to this day, I feel a deep connection with? What IF, those places were blown up year after year by bombs. What IF my friends and family died for really no reason at all, caught in the cross hairs of ethnic and religious hatred. What if the traditions that I celebrate when I am there were now dead. It hurts my soul to even think about. My home is not only people and places. Its my memory. My soul. My friends. My family. The gorgeous nature I came to understand, respect and love. My fears. The roots of the common decency (to me at least) that we ALL, as living beings on this planet, have an obligation to each other and future generations to preserve and respect. The place where I learned. Where I grew. Evolved. Dreamed. Was granted opportunity to be the person I am today. Where I learned from mistakes, most of the time at least. I now haul this goldmine around with me in the suitcase of my soul to each crazy corner of the world I find myself from day to day. If my home and all that defines it simply ceased to exist, I almost feel like the man that I strive to be would be lost. And that loss would be the heaviest cross to bear.......it takes a courageous soul to overcome the power of what we see in the world today. How could I continue? We see a place like Beirut simply by tuning in the news. Just imagine for one second, what it feels like to be direct victim of the darkness, not just an observer from afar? The pain he feels must be so incredibly deep. And I have great admiration for my friend, who despite his loss, moves forward, loving MORE. Hoping MORE. Offering MORE. He is an incredible musician who is one of a kind. He has achieved a saddened prosperity in his life. When I perform along side him I always wondered where his depth of character came from and how he seems to elevate the souls of those around him to love. And now I think I understand. His music is now where his home, expressed to us all to feel. Those of us that still have a home, wherever that may be, should take a second to be incredibly grateful for having what so many see destroyed in front of their very eyes. I hope humanity can turn the corner one day. We have the power to do so. Each of us. One soul at a time. Thank you for reading. With Love, Kev
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 16:26:27 +0000
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