BILL MILLER
PLAYS THE FLUTE Click
on the photo go to THE GATHERING'S web site. The Gathering is a spiritual
retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work.
Photo: Georgia Dennis
BILL
WINS THE GRAMMY––TWICE!
Bill's
CD Cedar Dream Songs wins
the 2005 Best Native American Music Album!
He
does it again in 2006, with two songs on the SilverWave's Grammy winning
CD, Sacred
Ground: A Tribute to Mother Earth.
CONGRATULATIONS,
BILL! CEDAR DREAM SONGS is a stunning CD. Elegant, haunting,
beautiful. Masterfully produced. The minute I heard it, I had
no doubt you'd win. And Sacred Ground is a wonderful compilation,
the best of the best. A triumph for Native American music.
Best
wishes to you and your family.
AT THE GATHERING
2005, BILL SIGNED CDS & PRINTS OF HIS ART WHILE SANDY SIGNED
BOOKS!
Bill Miller is the Spiritual Leader of The
Gathering, a Native American spiritual retreat in Tennessee.
The Gathering is a great place to hear Bill speak and sing in
a serene, intimate setting. Here he and Sandy Nathan sign copies
of Sandy's book, Stepping Off the Edge.The book features the Gathering and Bill Miller. Bill's son,
Jacob, is sitting on Bill's lap.
Not seen in the picture, prints of Bill's art were for sale.
BILL
MILLER: SPIRIT RAINBill's
new album is the basis for this article about life after 9/11/01.
Illustrated with photos from the 2002 Gathering.
WHY
WE SHOULD GO ON RETREATThis
article talks about the value of going on retreat-- even when
you don't go! Learn about The Gathering, a Native American Spiritual
Retreat in Tennessee's Great Smoky Mountains lead by Bill Miller
on 9/22 & 23, 2001.
"GHOSTDANCE"My
reaction to Bill's award winning CD.
THE
eBay SERIESDedicated
to Bill. The
dedication is on the 2nd article of the group-- an internal
directory will show you the way.I
began this series on eBay when Bill had one of his paintings
listed. I've got five of nine articles up More coming up very
soon. Looking for sniping software? On line credit? Links are
up.
WRITER'S
CORNERThis
series of articles talks about writing from the heart. It's
intended for prospective and stuck writers. I mention Bill Miller
in the article, HOW TO START WRITING.
To go directly to the part about Bill, click
here: THE
TRANSCENDENT THRUST.
BILL MILLER PLAYING AT
THE GATHERING 2002
Click on the photo to be transported to the Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by the Holston Conference
Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
BUY
BILL'S MUSIC HERE!
Click on the title below and buy through Amazon! Amazon
gives web sites with links a rebate on all sales. 100% of our
rebate money goes to a charity dear to our heart. You may want
to bookmark this site and use it as your entrance to Amazon, many
people do.
OUR
BOOKSTORE presents our Nathan family selections
for great reading.HEAR
OUR PRAYER
. BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click on the photo to be transported to the
Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
INTRODUCTION
Dear
Friends,
This hunk of cyberspace started out as the article, "Bill
Miller--the Halloween Edition." "The Never-ending Article",
I called it while writing. It did end, and I think successfully.
I added a blurb about Bill's new CD, "Ghostdance," just
before leaving town for the Holidays in 1998. Is this page a journal?
No. Too small for that. Is this a newsletter? No!!! That brings
up deadlines and keeping up and making news and stuff. Schedules.
Ycch! We barely get the horses and kids fed on time around here.
No newsletters. Is this a cyber-altar to an adored star? No!!!
Triple ycch. I hate that. People attributing perfection to mortal
humans who happen to sing or dance or juggle well. No, this bit
of writing isn't that, either.
What
is it, then? I think of this space as a writer's note to her friends.
A loosely organized contemplation of Bill Miller's impact on my
mind and soul. What I do these days is write and think. I'm working
on a family of interrelated books -- thrillers all. While I'm
writing, people, things, events, books, and music impact me. This
letter lets me share the portion that intersects with Bill Miller
in a way that I hope benefits all of us: you , me and Bill. I'll
add new articles as events unfold.
Who's Bill Miller, by the way? Some of you may not know. He's
the guy in the photo above. Bill is a Native American singer and
musician of German-Mohican ancestry raised on the Stockbridge-Munsee
Reservation in Wisconsin. My interest in Bill Miller began a couple
of years ago when a CD in a Western store leapt into my hands
and said, "Buy me." I did, and got knocked flat. The
CD was called, "The Red Road." I found that my life
and Bill's could not have been more different, or more similar.
Bill Miller's music was a catalyst for me, popping up emotional
business like fish jumping out of a pond. I'd listen to Bill and
up would come issues that I'd have to deal with pronto or they'd
start to smell. I've been a fan of Bill's ever since.
Why
does Bill Miller have this powerful emotional effect? He has overcome
the worst sort of poverty, racism and despair. Bill Miller hasn't
turned out right, given the hand life dealt him. With his background,
he should be insane, a criminal, or dead. He isn't. He's a very
positive, inspiring man who can fill a room with spirit and put
everyone in it in touch with his or her soul. He's a devoted family
man who's been married over twenty years and has five children.
His music is beautiful and sweet--and he doesn't pull any punches.
Miller describes the world as it is and the job before all people
of good will if we are to keep our world livable. He talks about
acceptance and forgiveness. Faith and hope.
I
have devoted this space to Bill Miller because he is an inspiration.
12/20/98I received my copy of Bill
Miller's brand new CD, "Ghostdance," today. Five days
before Christmas. I rushed to get out of town for the Holidays,
rushed to meet with our computer consultant about this site. Rushed,
period. My initial reaction to the CD was, "Hummn. Humn?
Huh?" The same reaction I had when my youngest daughter was
born. She didn't look like anyone in either family, including
me. I was certain she was mine, however, and figured we'd
work it out. We did.
Ghostdance
struck me the same way. I was so excited to find Ghostdance among
the reams of holiday junk mail that I insisted our computer consultant
play it while we worked. Nathan played the CD as we attempted
to untangle what I did the last time I tried updating our website.
(Such as erasing all our links.) This was not a good situation
to truly appreciate anything. At home, without my anxieties about
computers and boy-genius computer consultants, I discovered that
Ghostdance is a wonderful, wonderful album. You can order it right
here. Click to Order Bill's Music.
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click on the photo to be transported to the
Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
Okay.
Ghostdance. I had some problems with Bill's previous album, Raven
in the Snow. Parts I loved and parts overpowered me. Sort of like
a bazooka in the living room. I wrote to Bill about my concerns.
I felt strange writing to a public figure. Getting no response.
Was I overstepping? Making sense? Did he even get my message?
Did he care? Was I stupid to write? Then I heard Ghostdance .
Something went "click" in my head. The album not only
reflected everything I said in my correspondence, it was almost
like Bill used my feedback as a guide. I know he's been working
on Ghostdance for years, long before I wrote what I did, but the
fit was amazing. And very satisfying. I wrote something like,
"Concentrate on creating something beautiful. Let the message
resonate in the truth of your heart and reach out to touch others.
Sing your pain, not your anger. Make it a love song." And
that's what came out in Ghostdance.
The
CD is beautiful. Elegant. Masculine. (Very masculine. No woman
would ever write this.) Powerful. Satisfying. As spiritual as
the ebb and flow of the Universe. I love the way Bill teases you
with the violin prelude, then -- Wham! Slashing guitar and dark
lyrics. The CD takes off instantly: A force, a power, roars through
the whole thing like a freight train. That transcendent thrust,
the will to live, the raw energy just keeps growing. Ghostdance's
message brought two seemingly unrelated things to my mind, both
worth sharing.
First,
Bill's lyrics remind me of the book, Independent People, by
the brilliant Icelandic author, Halldor Laxness. If you're like
most people, you haven't heard of Laxness. Independent People
got people's attention worldwide, however, winning the Nobel Prize
for Literature in 1955. (Indicating that intelligent life existed
on the planet during the '50's.) Independent People is
one of the most haunting, powerful, and beautiful books I've ever
read. Part poetry, part fable, all brutal reality, Laxness grabs
you by the throat and shoves the life of the Icelandic peasant
in the early 20th century in your face. Halldor died in 1998,
leaving over 60 books behind.
If
he were alive, Halldor Laxness and Bill Miller would love each
other. They'd have much to say about social classes and how society
works. About people who live in big houses at the expense of others.
About inequity. Unfairness. Starvation. Death of the soul and
the body through neglect and outright viciousness. They'd have
a nice chat. Hopefully, you and Bill will meet Halldor through
Independent People. (It's available through Amazon.com
on our coming bookstore!)
The
only difference between Halldor Laxness' world and Bill Miller's
is that in Iceland, blue eyed, blond people who look exactly alike
and have the same religion did it to each other. Race, color,
and ethnicity didn't enter into the equation. That adds a twist
many seem to miss: We humans seem to have an innate ability to
separate into top dogs and bottom dogs and then brutalize each
other. We'll do it over almost anything or even nothing.
My
second response to Bill's lyrics: Sometimes it's not all that
hot in the big house on the hill. But you have to live there to
find out.
Ghostdance
is so rich. So many moods and themes. Haunting melodies, driving
beat. Bill sings a love song to his wife. So lovely. None of the
"I gotta have you, Baby. I'll die if you leave" addictive
garbage. Bill expresses feelings a person has when he or she's
been with another for 20 years or more. The flow of time wears
away the rough spots, the unevenness, the willfulness, leaving
the smoothness of adaptation, acceptance. Forgiveness. Of having
been through it all together and loving each other anyway. That's
love, not the rubbing of two carefully constructed facades created
to give the illusion of reality. The currency needed to buy an
evening's pleasure.
How
to describe this rich gift called "Ghostdance"? Wonderful
guitar. Great use of Native vocalizations. Thoughtful lyrics.
"Where are we going?" Bill asks in the song,"Ghostdance."
My meditation teacher wrote a book by that name. Bill sounds like
a yogi time and time again. A mighty warrior coming home. We are
mighty warriors coming home.
When
I really like something, I find myself (1) pulled into meditation
or (2) wanting to ride my horse. Sometimes both, which is risky,
depending if I'm on an actual horse. Well, Bill hit the jackpot.
I was listening to the CD a few dozen times to see if I had any
more reactions that should be included here. I found myself in
the "both" category above, my mind dead stopped except
for the desire to saddle up. The same thing happened when I listened
to Robert Mirabal's new album, Mirabal. If any of you readers
are riders of Peruvian Paso horses, there's some good riding music
in Ghostdance. I bet it holds some nice Musical Exercise Class
ribbons for a good horse and rider duo. (If you go to Robert
Mirabal, I explain what the Musical Exercise Class is, including
a picture of a horse that's never been beaten in it.) I bet you
could teach your horse some pretty fancy moves to Ghostdance.
Any takers? Shawna? Jorge? Dante? Huh?
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click on the photo to be transported to the
Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
As
a final testimonial to Ghostdance, I had the good fortune to acquire
two fabulous CD's within 24 hours: Ghostdance and Sudama. (For
more about Sudama, click here: Sudama
and Dreamtime Continuum.) Sudama is by
a very good friend, Mark (Sudama) Kennedy, who is the leader of
a band called Dreamtime Continuum. Where Bill Miller's soul is
flavored by his Native American experience, Mark Kennedy leans
East-- way East to India and Japan. And not so far East--to the
Middle East. Also West. To California. And to Europe. Mark's all
over the globe. That's what happens when your dad's a diplomat.
The two CD's couldn't be more different in feeling and sound.
They capture the essences of two very different men perfectly.
And two very similar men. Both are immensely spiritual. Their
work shows the same honesty, same purity of expression. Both are
beautiful and multi-layered. I feel Ghostdance like a flow of
boiling, red lava. Sudama seems an elegant puzzle seducing me
into following the singer. Both have a message that drops the
listener to his purest depths, elevates to the heights. I love
both albums. So what's the testimonial?
I
had a stack of each CD in front of me last night, wrapping them
as gifts. I listened to Ghostdance for the umpteenth time while
I wrapped. Ghostdance just grabbed me up. Swept me into its flow.
I wasn't aware of what I was doing. Wrapping away. Writing names
on colorful paper. Losing it completely. I don't know whose album
I gave to whom. Did I give the boiling Ghostdance to my elderly
Auntie Elma? Did my son get the mellow Sudama? Will my mother
rock to Bill's beat, while my nephew Nano-- who went with me to
see Bill in the Halloween Edition below---gets Mark Kennedy's
meditative treat? Who knows? I really went out. I don't care,
either. I'm too shot by the Holiday madness to unwrap anything
and check. They'll deal with it. Both CD's are terrific.
That's
it! Best wishes to you from me, Sandy Nathan, and the entire Nathan
family. May you have a Holiday Season and lifetime surpassing
your wildest dreams. May peace prevail on earth and all the warriors
come home safely. Best wishes to you, Bill Miller, and your growing
family.
THIS
APPLIES TO ALL HOLIDAY SEASONS! BEST WISHES FROM THE NATHAN FAMILY!!
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click
on the photo to be transported to the Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
Sandy Nathan's
new book, STEPPING
OFF THE EDGE: Learning & Living Spiritual Practice
reads like
a good novel, while teaching the great truths of humanity. A powerful
tale of insight and spiritual unfolding, this book will take you
to new realms of thought and feeling.
"Sandy's
book has got to be one of the most fun to read books about
spirituality ever written." Natural
Horse Magazine
11/31/98This is the seventh and hopefully last version
of this article I'll write. When I started writing, I intended
to take an hour and knock out a couple of fun pages on Bill Miller.
I'd add them to our Music Section and that would be that. But
that wouldn't do justice to the impact Miller's work has had on
my soul. What to do? Life provided a solution: I had plans to
be in upstate New York during August for the international convention
of an East Indian meditation school. Bill's webpage posted a couple
of dates which were within long driving distance from the Ashram
where I'd be staying. I'd never seen him live --why not go to
one of the concerts and report on that? Great idea.
The minute I decided to see Bill live, the universe moved to stop
it. I was caught in a grinder: Something in me wanted, needed
and was gonna see him that summer. And everything else conspired
to keep that from happening. I hated this. Further, after finally
seeing the concert, I kept writing draft after draft after draft
of this piece. None were right. Funny, but too shallow. Extremely
deep, but too much. And all this weird stuff kept happening, which
I thought was beside the point, but just yesterday realized was
the point. The segment of my life called "writing about Bill"
has been so bizarre, that I wanted to share it in some detail.
And here it is: Halloween. What a coincidence! Trick or treat!?
Before we go farther, some readers may wonder who Bill Miller
is. I certainly didn't know two years ago. Bill is a Native American
singer/musician raised on a reservation in Wisconsin. I discovered
him accidentally, picking through a basket of CD's at a local
western store. Miller's music knocked me flat. It dropped me to
depths of feeling that I needed to reach, but had been unable
to access. I went out and bought everything of his I could find
after purchasing that first CD, "The Red Road." Bill
Miller's other work had the same effect. I owed him a debt of
gratitude for the personal growth I achieved by CD alone.
Also by way of introduction, why is this story my Halloween treat?
Because it's spooky... and tricky.... and strange. Have you heard
of the Trickster? Many Native American spiritual systems incorporate
a Trickster. He is a spiritual entity who does exactly what his
name implies: Plays tricks on people. Usually gentle little tricks
that get you moving. The Trickster appears in some European folk
mythologies. In yoga, we have Ganesh, the deity who removes obstacles
to the spiritual path. Ganesh is a fun loving, chubby dude with
an elephant's head. He likes to play. Sometimes he plays by removing
obstacles, sometimes by putting them in your way. He yanks your
chain, in other words. One asks Ganesh's blessing for any new
undertaking. I must have forgotten when I went to see Bill Miller.
In
the spirit of Halloween, I'm offering this tale of Ganesh, the
Trickster and obstacles on the path. All this really happened.
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click
on the photo to be transported to the Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
Okay, I was going to
be in an Ashram, a Yogic monastery, outside a small (very small)
town in upstate New York in July and August. Bill's website said
he'd be playing in Bethlehem, PA and Boston, MA, while I was in
New York. Bethlehem was a 2 hour drive from where I'd be, Boston,
about 5. Obviously, Bethlehem was closer. So I called up the venue
to check it out. I was nervous. I'm a grandmother, don't travel
alone much. Don't like the East Coast or anywhere outside the
state of California, really. I don't drink, go to bars, etc. Didn't
want to go anyplace like that. I also wondered why I wanted to
go so much. Was this overwhelming desire to hear Bill Miller symptomatic
of some deep-seated psychological imbalance? In short, I was having
a major anxiety attack.
I called and called and called. The city of Bethlehem, PA, was
busy for almost 2 weeks. Not just the place where Bill was supposed
to play-- The whole town. Every time I'd call, the computer-generated
operator said, "I'm sorry. All our circuits are busy. Try
again later." I kept calling. How can a whole city be busy?
Surely, someone would hang up so I could get through! I finally
called Bethlehem information. Maybe the number was wrong on the
website. The operator said the venue didn't exist--in Bethlehem
or anywhere nearby.
I got through to Bill's Boston venue on the first call. The Chairwoman
of the Board of Directors picked up the phone. Happened to be
walking by when I called. We had a lovely chat. The Club Passim
is a non-drinking, nonsmoking Middle Eastern club appropriate
for grandmothers. Perfect. (This is called "synchronicity",
a term invented by Swiss psychologist Carl Jung to describe eerie
coincidences. As when unrelated events that mean something come
together out of nowhere.) "Guess I'm supposed to go to Boston."
But there was no easy public transportation to Boston from South
Fallsburg, New York. I knew if I tried to drive five hours on
roads I didn't know on the utterly alien East Coast, my bad back
would act up. They'd find me midway to Boston the next day, unable
to get out of the car. I'd be transported to the nearest hospital,
where I would end my days in traction. Then there was the problem
of company. I didn't want to go alone. The only people I knew
in Boston, my brother and sister-in-law, would be in Chicago at
the National Ironman and Woman Championships. Not something they
do every weekend, just that one.
As if by magic, the barriers dissolved. I was going to see Bill
after all! Getting there involved cars and planes, but no buses
or trains. The trip would cost only slightly less than the National
Debt-- it was my birthday present from my husband. "See Bill
Day" was August 5th, 1998.
As if by magic, my back went out August 3rd. I'd spent ten fantastic,
miraculous, significant--in-every-way days at our Ashram with
my older daughter. We had a blast! The Courses we took were wonderful.
The Global Conference-- 1,200 leaders from meditation centers
all over the world-- was stupendous. The people were great, the
food, all of it-- was wonderful. So wonderful that my back told
me to stop having so much fun. I didn't know if I could stand
up, much less go anywhere.
August 5th dawned. Voila! Back was great. No barriers to my big
adventure. Everything's cool. Except that when my back was hurting,
I couldn't get any money to pay the driver who would take me on
lap one of the great race. He was "cash only." I had
money, but it was in California. And all the ATM's in the tiny
town (2) were broken. Why that day? I gave my daughter
all the money I had (a twenty) so she could eat and said, "Mooch
off our friends if you need more." I told the driver my plight.
He wasn't too worried. There was another ATM just out of town.
It didn't take my card. The fewer and farther between banks after
that wouldn't take my check. The driver-- a really nice guy, a
bit nervous, though-- was getting hysterical when the last bank
managed to cough up enough for me to pay him.
Was this fun? No. Right there, I thought, "Ganesh."
The Trickster! Nothing to do but see how it turned out. Other
people would have started swearing. The driver wanted to. Especially
when the State of New York's Highway Department routed all the
New York bound traffic on our side of the freeway onto the frontage
road. That included us. The frontage road! The driver was so upset
he could hardly speak. He'd just driven the freeway in the other
direction to get me. "They weren't doing this two hours ago."
There we were, stalled on a frontage road, crawling through tiny
hamlets no one had ever seen. For miles. Meanwhile, the freeway
was empty. Even of road equipment: They weren't working on
it. No one was doing anything on the freeway, but they
diverted the traffic. Why? Even Caltrans doesn't do stuff that
stupid in California. I relaxed. We'd either get to La Guardia
in time for my plane, or not. We'd allowed 2 extra hours for the
drive. I got there just in time to walk on my plane. Ganesh was
having a field day.
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click
on the photo to be transported to the Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
My nephew picked me up in Boston on schedule, having
changed his flight to Chicago to see his sister compete for the
National Ironwoman title so he could see Bill with me. In due
course, I found myself standing on the steps leading down to a
basement to Club Passim, where Bill Miller would play. Club Passim
is literally underground, in the middle of bustling Harvard Square.
(Yes, the Harvard.) I was pretty crabby by then, having
missed lunch in addition to everything else. My nephew, Nathan
Fisher (Code name: "Nano" to family members) and I got
to the Club at 7, when it was supposed to open, but didn't. Nano
and I stood in line with other fans. One brought a suitcase. Would
we have to wait that long? We were not having fun.
Nano made a few excursions from our place in line, one to buy
a throwaway camera, on the off chance that I might be able to
photograph Bill. Failure. He left again to get us Snapples. Juice.
Anything. More failure. Still we waited. I found it hard being
in the world after a week of deep meditation. My heart kept exploding
with light. Colors were too bright. Things went too fast. After
all I'd gone through to get there, I didn't want to be where I
was.
One plus was the fact that we arrived about the same time as Bill
Miller. A vehicle pulled up in the alley and a guy with long black
hair got out. I figured it had to be Miller because he looked
just like the guy on Bill's CD's. A pretty good clue. He kept
walking past me down the steps down to the Club, bringing in guitars
and so on, confirming my suspicion that he was, indeed, the Real
Bill. I gawked, unable to open my mouth and say, "Hi. I'm
Sandy Nathan. I'm featuring you on my website magazine. I clawed
my way from South Fallsburg to see you. Can we talk?" I have
a hysterically reverent fascination with prominent people, coupled
with geeklike terror. If I get near anyone even mildly well-known,
I usually stare worshipfully and then stammer something like,
"Uh... Nice shoes." I'd had plenty of chance to look
at my problem with the Distinguished at the Ashram. A couple of
very well known celebrities were there. I made them so awkward
that one took a vow of silence.
The evening wasn't shaping up the way I thought. Nothing was magical.
I'd invited some folks from the local meditation center. No one
showed. By the time we got into the Passim, my blood sugar level
was down around my ankles. The Club looked like a dingy cellar
with bunch of tiny tables stuffed into it. Tables that quickly
filled with weird people. From the crowd, lots of folks liked
Bill Miller as much as me.
Dinner elevated my
mood nicely. I looked around. The Club Passim was transformed
into charming, hip place, jammed with nice people. Wow. This was
an historic place. Joan Baez sang here, years ago. Wow. She lived
around the corner from me when we lived in Woodside. I used to
follow her in the grocery store, genuflecting and drooling.
Bill and a thin young man tuned and tweaked and set up instruments
for ages. They started pretty close to 8. Only then did we find
out that the young man was Bill's younger brother, Clint, and
they had been cruising around Boston for two hours, lost. Oh!
That was awful! Too bad they didn't have my nephew to guide them!
On the other hand-- the Trickster was not singling me out. Later,
during his act, Bill said they hadn't eaten, either. That was
worse. I wanted to jump onto the stage with my dinner, the product
of a deeply rooted urge to mother anything that moves. However,
Bill was not as crabby as I would have been unfed. Must not be
hypoglycemic. You really couldn't tell he was starving and hysterical.
Anyway...
You're getting tired of hearing this drivel and want to know how
the concert was? Fantastic. Utterly fantastic. Bill was 50 times
better than I imagined. But I'll get to that. Be patient. I had
"baba ganoush" for an appetizer and a really good vegetarian
casserole for dinner. My nephew ordered.....
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click
on the photo to be transported to the Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
I'm stalling. I'm scared. I don't
know if I'm capable of describing the emotional impact of hearing
Bill Miller in that intimate setting. I don't know if I can put
across the feeling he created in that room. I absolutely don't.
At one point, I looked around at the crowd and saw upturned faces,
people with their eyes closed, expressions rapt. Deep inside themselves,
listening with their hearts. Bill's music is deep. Penetrating.
Utterly moving. I found myself drifting into meditation, unable
to stop myself, hands forming yogic positions involuntarily. This
was what I came for. This was what attracted me.
I looked at Bill's face as he sang. His eyes were closed, the
light bathing his features. His soul was there, singing the song,
letting it come through him. I let myself be in my inner world
with the other people in the room. It's a place I know well, one
I usually confine to the meditation hall, far from the world.
I understood why everyone had come to hear Bill, and what had
pulled me so powerfully. As the evening unfolded, I learned why
I was there, why I'd surmounted all obstacles.
I slipped easily into memories of the week before, memories of
the Global Conference I attended with other leaders of our meditation
school. I saw the face of another fine and passionate man, Professor
Douglas Brooks. Dr. Brooks is a Professor of Religious Studies
at the University of Rochester in New York. As I listened to Bill
Miller sing, I recalled Douglas Brooks standing before the vast
crowd in the meditation hall, quoting the work of a 13th century
Indian poet/saint.
I couldn't move for the wonder. What words were these? As I listened
to Dr. Brooks, it seemed that someone poured opalescent blue liquid
into my ears. I could see its color and shimmer. The liquid merged
inside me, forming a lake of blue delight. Of incredible beauty.
I couldn't move. The lake became an ocean, shimmering, pearl-like.
I could feel its power, hear its roar. I didn't feel the tears
running down my face. I didn't know I was crying until I heard
my own sobs. I have never heard such beautiful language. I have
never heard such beautiful words. I slid into a deep meditation.
Douglas Brooks stood at the podium, quoting the poet, face lit
by his passion for learning, his passion for the Word. The Light.
What did the Professor talk about? The Nataraj. The Dancing Shiva.
I'm sure you've seen it: A dancing figure in a hoop of flames.
The Nataraj is one of the world's greatest religious symbols.
The ancient poet described Shiva as he dances.
The Nataraj. Shiva, the Lord of the Dance. Dreadlocks flying as
he whirls in ecstasy. Shiva, dancing always and everywhere, the
bliss of the Lord underlying reality. So huge He fills the entire
universe. At the same time, smaller than the smallest particle.
He moves to the cosmic rhythm, wildly expressing his joy. All
the while, Shiva is still, as a champion skater executing the
fastest move shows a thread of stillness. Shiva is impassioned,
yet composed. Utterly real. Utterly authentic. Just who he is,
with no pretense, no hiding. Primitive and primal-- and refined
and elegant. Shiva, the real dancer in the dance of life, of which
we are all a part.
Where does this dance take place? Where did these words take me?
To the madya. The Sanskrit word for the Center. The opening in
the universe where God appears. To the space between the breaths.
To the place where thoughts arise. The madya-- the crack between
the fence boards that lets the garden on the other side peek through.
We were in our deepest depths, the center of our being. Dancing
with Shiva.
That's where Bill Miler took me and many others in the Club Passim.
I finally got why Bill Miller's work is so powerful. Bill sings
from this center, the deepest part of any human being. His song
resonates there, in the jeweled center of his heart. His voice
strikes the identical chord in the hearts of his listeners. That
pure chord is what attracted me to Bill's music and dragged me
to Boston. What I already knew was revealed to me again. I heard
that deep place of origin the first time I listened to "The
Red Road". Professor Brooks' lecture gave me words to put
around the experience.
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING,
COKER CREEK VILLAGE, TN.
Click
on the photo to be transported to the Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
Well, I really liked the concert.
Bill and Clint played many of the songs you can hear on his CD's.
They played fast. They played slow. Bill pulled out the assortment
of flutes he had stashed on a chair and played them wonderfully.
The whole thing was amazing. They also played some songs from
Bill's upcoming CD, Ghostdance, which were excellent. Throughout,
Bill talked. He's very talkative. Almost as talkative as me. All
I can say is-- go hear him live. Miller has a message that many
ministers would die to possess and deliver the way he does. It
is (in part): "We are all Native Americans now. We need to
forgive and live in peace."
When the concert was over, Bill and Clint disappeared down the
aisle and into the Club Passim offices. People sat at their tables,
savoring what they'd heard. The emotional state Bill left behind
was full and rich. I felt very satisfied, though I'd hoped to
say a few words to Bill and give him a tape I'd brought. Didn't
seem possible-- until my nephew said, "Why don't you talk
to the management?" Good idea. Why not ask? I did.
Something extraordinary happened. A staff member went into the
offices after my request to say hello to Bill. She came back saying,
"He's really tired...." I whined a bit and she asked
again. Bill came out, looking exhausted. A group of perhaps ten
of us stood in the lobby chatting. Bill didn't know who I was--
this person who would be writing about him-- so he greeted everyone
with as much warmth and compassion as he'd show his own mother.
A contemporary Hindu saint said, "The truest religion is
welcoming another human being with love." I saw a perfect
example of this in Bill Miller greeting a pack of strangers. I
bet he never heard of that Hindu guy, either!
Eventually, Bill got around to me and I had my few words. Gave
him the tape. Told him how much I enjoyed his singing and that
I'd have some very nice things to say about him. That was it.
My nephew and I climbed from the Passim into the human circus
of Harvard Square after dark. Blue haired, pierced people groped
each other in doorways. We moved through narrow streets rimmed
by tall brick buildings and sloping slate. The velvet sky enveloped
us. Stars, holes that let the light shine through, showered a
sweet reality. What a lovely night to be alive.
Thank you, Bill Miller, for singing your song. Thank you for inspiring
mine.
BILLMILLER PLAYING AT THE 2002 GATHERING, COKER CREEK VILLAGE,
TN.
Click
on the photo to be transported to the Gathering's web site.
The Gathering is a spiritual retreat hosted by
the Holston Conference Native American Ministries Team.
The paintings behind Bill are his own work. Photo: Georgia Dennis
That was the concert. I went back
to the Ashram, thinking I'd write a review and that would be it.
That wasn't it. I'm not the writer of my life, nor the writer
of the play around me. Things happened. Issues I've grappled with
all my life flamed: What is the nature of evil? What is the nature
of good? Why would a loving God permit this?
In the midst of this, I began to write about Bill Miller's gig.
What came out was not a two bit write up of a concert, but a philosophical
inquiry about good and evil set in Bill's show, wrapped around
things he said. Like, "I don't understand how people can
do things like that to other people," referring to atrocities
at the massacre at Wounded Knee. I put together a very clear and
compelling explanation of exactly how people can do that, based
on psychoanalytical and psychological theory, clinical research
and my own experience. Neatly written so that almost anyone could
relate to it Also, entertaining and even funny, in parts. Then
I went on to examine goodness and its source, much more interesting
topics.
The piece was neat, if I do say so. I got it about 7/8 done, thinking,
"This is nice, but what do I do with it?" It stood at
about 70 pages. Funny, useful, insightful pages. Well written.
I intended it for the Internet. How could this monster go on the
net? Obviously, it was too long. So I thought, "Why don't
you publish it (with Bill's permission), sell it, and donate the
proceeds to some Native American charity?" I talked to a
few people about it, who thought this wasn't too silly an idea.
Maybe even a good one.
Meanwhile, the oaks and vineyards issue came up (Oaks
and Vineyards) and I had to write about it before the election.
Ideas for a section of a book I'm writing flooded in: I got busy.
I shelved the "publish and donate" idea and the Bill
Miller piece until yesterday. I pulled up my computer files, getting
ready to put this essay on the net-- and everything I wrote about
Bill was gone. Yes, gone. Gone from my hard drive, gone from my
floppies. Gone from the ZIP disks. Gone. No one in my house would
erase it. The stuff was just gone. I managed to find the few pages
about the concert on an old floppy I'd started when I was at the
Ashram. Just the part I intended to put on the net was left.
I accepted it pretty well. Seventy pages of work that I sweat
blood on was gone. With no explanation. But it was weird! I don't
lose things. "Hum," I thought. "Maybe I got what
I was supposed to from the writing about good and evil. Maybe
it wasn't supposed to be shared. Maybe this is just another little
joke." And, "Why is this happening to me?" Ganesh.
So, today, I fired up my computer. My hands sort of did what they
wanted to. I opened up some obscure files, seldom used, and there
was the Good and Evil piece, happily saved. Was it "just
a mistake"? Did I "just forget?" Or did Ganesh
yank my chain? Whatever it was, it got my attention. I realized
this story wanted to be written. So I did.
Happy Halloween, everyone! Don't let the Trickster get you!
PS Bill, does stuff like this happen around you a lot?
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new book, STEPPING
OFF THE EDGE: Learning & Living Spiritual Practice
reads like
a good novel, while teaching the great truths of humanity. A powerful
tale of insight and spiritual unfolding, this book will take you
to new realms of thought and feeling.
"Sandy's
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