Sketches of Spain

One Jewish Folk Struggles More (alternative title)

Long notes and pauses of octaves that I cannot name reached my untrained ears as I drove that great stretch of space known as Texas. I could not think about the music of Miles Davis per se, since I cannot comment on his technique. Instead I was pushed, no, drawn, to the great emotions he pulled through my mind as I myself was pulled along the great Texas highway.

His music, this particular album that I had bought in Austin for $3.99, seemed absolutely perfect for my drive, my movement through space. As the trees and hills spun and faded almost in time with each drawn-out wave of melody, I suddenly realized that this masterpiece was meant for me to hear at that particular point in my life's eternal movement. For as his pained, elongated, haunting progression of music filled me, my mind hovered around the great question that has been on everyone's mind: God.

I actually do not know, nor want to research, whether Miles Davis had any beliefs. His music, at that great moment of traveling, brought me beyond labels, beyond the confines of particular faith systems, and wondrously allowed me to think. To think about God in a new and interesting way. Sketches of Spain made it possible for me to abstract away from the knowledge of God I had learned in my twenty-six years of life. Not God within the realm of particularism, but a mystical feeling of the Trueness of God's Universalism to us all.

The music brought images, thoughts and questions to my mind, which, together with the actual thought process of driving that great distance, resulted in something unique and wholesome. It seemed so perfectly clear that I wasn't allowed to dwell or focus on any one thought for any amount of time. The only constant presence was the music, which seemed to have a life of its own outside of its long-dead creator.

Without headphones or a tape player, I am able, with a brief pause in writing, to hear Sketches of Spain. What song am I playing? What trumpet part is running, pushing my pen, just as his trumpet pushed the car? I cannot say. And even if I did know, I don't think I would reveal it. Oddly enough, while I was in that car thinking about writing down my thoughts regarding Sketches, spirituality and God, I didn't know which song evoked which thought, and I concluded that it did not matter to tell. The mystery, even to myself, was what brought me to my new understanding of God.

By the way, I want to be clear: when I say "understanding" and "God," I know full well how ridiculously limited my understanding is. I feel compelled, pushed by Miles to write, so I must use the best words I can, just as he used the best notes he could to progress through Sketches.

And as I drove, the asphalt rolled rhythmically underneath me. Magic, if you really think about it. I was suddenly caught up in a great mystery about Mr. Davis's music: that just maybe he was unaware, at some deep level, of what song he was really playing when he recorded that album. The idea that a mere human originator could cause the listener to have strong emotions, and still not fully know what he was doing, made me realize that this is what God is like.

I think that for most of us it is a song. We all know the tune but cannot name the song. We know the artist but cannot comprehend the message, and most of all, we get stretched by the Mystery.