Son of Timatollah

Mr. Fripp discusses, here, "the short & ephemeral nature of our visit here," and its implication for artists (all the living?).

On this day, in 1993, my Mother flew away.

“Living with death on our shoulder”, not as gloomy presentiment but as reminder of the short & ephemeral nature of our visit here, is a bracing experience. When we are in the presence of dying, of someone close to us, our experiencing acquires an intensity, a sharp edge. If this were how we experienced all of our everyday living, how very different the quality of our lives might be. Small moments hold our attention, suffused with meaning, value & significance.

In recent weeks, much of my life has been reappearing & representing itself, unbidden, of the entire period I have been drawing breath. Memory – what is memory? Many memories have been appearing, as if emerging from hiding behind protective barriers. The day spent with Sister yesterday, celebrating our Mother’s Second Birthday of today – reinforces the poignancy of knowing that, when opportunities were available, how few were fully seized. Not guilt, not sadness, but perhaps time to allow & even encourage, remorse. Remorse of conscience: how easy the words; yet a powerful shoulder on the door to a finer world.

Also recently, Robert has often been appearing & looking out through Fripp’s eyes. This is an experience I associate more with childhood.

But, Fripp misses his Mother. His good fortune is that, as an aspirant musician, in music he may find words to express this more fully. This is, after all, part of the function of our artists: they give voice to what is most deeply personal, and utterly impersonal, in all of us. We are the same person.

How dangerous, then, that we might demand of our musicians that they play the songs we want to hear, justifying this with a claim to own consumer rights. Certainly, let us give our artists what they need to support their lives, their independence, and the strength to tell us what is true. Let us also heckle & boo where they fail their calling, believing themselves to be the source of their talent & their art.

I never feel like see the complete picture he's telling: Too much mystic framework I'm not privy to. But I like the gist.

Maybe more on truth -- truth and freedom -- soon. Cogitating. Ideas congealing soon, I hope.