HendrixAm watching “All Is By My Side”, the Jimi Hendrix biopic. When he picked up a guitar and played his music, his way, he shone. We all know who Jimi is, though. Now. We might not have heard of him if it hadn’t been for a British model who was Keith Richards’ girlfriend. She introduced him to an “Animal”, bassist Chas Chandler, and BAM, Jimi heads to London and in a few short months, tops the charts. Life can be life that. Swift. Earth shatteringly fast.

Jimi’s music mattered to me. Listening to the “The Wind Cries Mary”, would bring tears. But I couldn’t relate to Jimi like some. I was young and the raw sexuality expressed through his fingers and voice frightened me. I look back and wish I’d understood my fear. I wish I could have let my hair down. Oh, I thought I was so cool and grown-up but was far too inexperienced to really ‘hear’ the Experience. At least, I can listen now with a new appreciation.

A couple of days ago, I realized how much I’d missed in my life because of shyness about my body. I didn’t understand sex. Still don’t. So much revolves around it, and my ignorance and naiveté made me close a lot of doors. Still does. Guess I found a block. I’d better get busy chopping it up, I promised a friend I’d walk through some doors with her.

Hendrix was enlightened. His music primal. He was also messed up. I wish he hadn’t left so soon, but it’s the path he chose. We’ve his music and the ideas he passed on.

My wish tonight is for peace or mind. He sought it but like many of us, let the world around him dictate how he felt and reacted. He understood the concepts, but did not live long enough to apply them. Since we’re still here, maybe we can get it right. Let’s go ahead and take some risks, yeah? Let’s just sing our own songs and play our own music. Let’s make our own “Purple Haze”.

Until tomorrow…




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