Music

"Without music, life would be a mistake."
- Nietzsche (The Twilight of the Idols)

Surely many have heard the famous maxim above. It's one that I tend to agree with, although I would classify music and poetry as a whole new entity entirely, but (perhaps) more on that another time. In the end, sadly, life is so often a painfully crude, dull, painful experience that we need the very few saving graces that are given to us - and music is one of them in my view. What brought this philosophical turn of mind about was the rather commonplace act of downloading, from i-tunes, 'Read my Mind' by the Killers. I don't find the lyrics mind-blowing, but luckily this song has some great tunes to fall back on. And then we get to the line
I pull up to the front of your driveway
With magic soakin' my spine

And yeah, good work Killers.... I can feel the dreary commonplace world pull away, the excitement, the 'in-the-moment' aliveness of pulling up to a driveway on a first or second date, and everything is quite aware and alive, and I feel the magic soaking my spine. In this moment of feeling, life certainly doesn't feel like a mistake.
And, for those interested, the video is, or was here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Oec8RuwVVs
In any case, just one of those lines that makes you sit up and take notice. Kudos, Killers.

Paradise and the DR

Wakey Wakey! Don’t be lazy! Time for your exercise! And with that, the Caribbean music, with a bit of techno mixed in, jumps to life, and its time for aerobics on the beach. This was my first real ‘resort’ trip, to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. And who knew that paradise included a Dominican dude who ran daily aerobics classes? Not I. If it was paradise, it had a distinctly German cast of characters.

And, we even learned some German:

Zu mite
Zu tites
Zum zoch zoch zoch!

(or such is my poor recollection of the crude toast by our German friend who I’ll call Eric the great). He certainly looked like a conquering barbarian with his barrel chest and steady beady eyes, ready to raise a toast to his motherland. Or, rather, his gods.

But it was, of course, a superficial paradise, one built on the poor of the Dominican Republic. For 50 some kilometers the tourist beaches ran, and how much of this was open to the native people? Tough to say, but probably very little. And how much were the hotel workers making, the maids that cleaned the rooms? In any case, there was another level of its falsity, seen in the entertainment. At times they seemed to want to mimic the European culture, or at least one of their evening entertainment pieces did. And so, dolled up all in white, were approximately 8 native entertainers dancing what I think was the blue Danube waltz, and doing a rather poor job of it. Here were people from Germany, some of whom had probably seen the masterpiece done by expert ballet dancers back home, watching this poor reproduction, with the dancers missing some steps and butchering others. It wasn’t natural, but whoever decided on the programming must have thought those watching would like a tour of all the worlds dances. For me, I would have preferred just the local style – but then again, I didn’t stick around to watch.

Besides the partying and day trips and drinking games at night, there was a more subdued and relaxed atmosphere at the resort. After dinner, with a few drinks in you, it feels like this was the most palpable. People could go down to the seashore or cobbled beach path, and truly and honestly saunter. Thoreau says of walking, “Moreover, you must walk like a camel, which is said to be the only beast which ruminates when walking.” And so we’d chew over the evening’s dinner as we sauntered lazily down the beach. The waves softly crashing on the shore lent a constant beat to our slow dance, which, deep down in our souls, we always felt. And the steps would come one after the other, sometimes so slowly that you would wonder if one step would be followed by the next. But, as with the waves coming in and beating out a rhythm in time, the next step would always follow, as a drop of water wells up and forms in a faucet, and then finally falls – plop! – to the sink below. It was the slow, plodding walk of the camel that felt so natural on the beach. While much of the resort was a false façade, this sauntering had the feel of authenticity to me.

In any case, the resort trip, my first, was a lot of fun. There were beautiful beaches, beautiful countrysides, lots of drinking with friends, a few evening dancing trips, sand volleyball, and lots of hanging out on the beach. Everything one might expect a resort trip to include. As far as physical pleasures and a relaxed attitude went, the resort was, indeed, paradise. I would hope, though, that real bliss includes a deeper, more spiritual depth of feeling, rather than just the numbing feeling of drinking too many rum and cokes.