The Ones Who Saunter

On tuning out, dropping in, and vision.

Greetings from Underground!

This week, I’m in discussions with old friends about new projects—adventuring partners with whom I’ve walked long miles over all kinds of terrain in all kinds of weather on all kinds of missions. The kind of friends who could keep you laughing through hail storms and car accidents and charges you might not be able to beat. Friends who keep you not just marching on but sauntering onward “à la Sainte Terre”. Friends who have been to other worlds, with and without you. We are dreaming up new worlds together, carrying old messages.

I’m listening to old songs of my own and improvising new one minute compositions to find a message from far out in the musical wilderness worth delivering to a listening room worth playing in the heart of the city.

I’m also doing my taxes.

With students, I’m reading “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” by Ursula LeGuin and “Walking” by Thoreau.

Of course, the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.

Thoreau:

Now, LeGuin:

They seem to know where they are going, the saunterers.

Let us go then, you and I, when the midday sun is spread across the sky, to lunch at City Club.

And bring your sauntering shoes.

Yours Truly,

JKLC