I forgot that I liked jazz. There are no words and that might just be the appealing part. I can hear the piano and the drums and saxophone, and any other reeded instruments. I’m not just talking about any jazz, and definitely not the Kenny G brand of jazz. But the Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Freddie Hubbard kind of jazz. Even in it’s upbeat moments, I’m allowed to wallow in my feelings in the moment or day.
Don Miller said that he didn’t like jazz because there was never any resolve in it. And he went on to say that about God, just like jazz, he doesn’t’ have any resolve. Or so Miller thought. In some odd, weird way I’m ok without resolve. And in a lot of others, having resolve is like oxygen, if I don’t have it, I can’t move on. Which, if we are being honest with each other, is where the rest of us fall.
It’s been forever since I’ve read Blue Like Jazz, and has been even longer since I’ve turned on the Spotify Jazz playlist. But today seemed fitting. I didn’t want words, because there really are no words. Ironically, I actually picked up my computer and starting writing this in the midst of no words. I’ve remained secluded in my apartment, without lights and trying to keep the interaction with people to a minimum. It’s an introvert day. I’ve ignored my chores, need to do them, and now they take me about twice as long as they did several weeks ago. There are a lot of loose ends floating around that most likely will not find any resolve today. And frankly, I’m ok with that. Tomorrow can bring resolve. Tomorrow will bring resolve. I’ve got dishes to do now.