Down To The River To Pray

Can we pause here for a moment?

And as I stood barefoot in the river, singing together in communion with my fellow festivarians, I felt relief of a longing I had buried deep down, buried because I believed I may never resolve it.

As we sang together, humming in unison until tender harmonies emerged, tickling my senses, tiny hairs standing at attention atop goose pimples that dotted my tan forearms, I breathed a rapturous sigh.

I wept the joyful tears of release, of arrival, my soul cup brimming with mystic awareness.

Connecting viscerally and spiritually to the North St. Vrain Creek and ancient rocks under my feet, I teetered a bit, intertwined with the musicians standing strong side by side.

My body changed, lit from within by the sacred songs we shared that afternoon.

The songs ring true in a primal communal heartspace, with lyrics and melodies handed down through generations before getting written into hymnals in the 1860s. The folky bluegrass treatment of gospel captures everything wonderful and magical in those spirituals, but with a twangy twist.

We sang out to the trees, our notes carried on the gentle Colorado breeze in July, a celebration of our collective effort to further our love and nurture of bluegrass music.

My playmates and I standing there in the creek had shared food, absorbed lessons and spread laughter, and slept on the ground together for the previous 5 nights, staying up late pickin’ and singing one song after another.

Each day we attended classes on our individual instruments. Some learned songwriting, others built new instruments from raw materials. There was a track for teaching children to play music. Songs filled the air.

We participated in band scrambles, where we got randomly placed into pickup bands of all ages. Between classes we got together in our assigned groups to learn songs and work out solos. In the early evening, we played the tunes in front of our classmates in a lighthearted competition.

And so in the end, we went down to the river to recognize ourselves for the earnest work we put in together. Our bonds were brief but deep.

Behind us, we left treasured memories we created together. Ahead of us, we anticipated the rapture of more beloved music, performed on the big stage by the masters of the genre.

The graduation ceremony from the RockyGrass Academy closed a chapter and afforded us a pause between the shared experiences: the active learning of improving skills to play music on the one hand, and the joyous revelry of receiving the ecstatic vibration of performed music at a bluegrass festival on the other.

As the tears ran down my cheek, I sang along and carried my part. I sang sweet lines and blissed into the high harmonies created from our voices mixed with the cool zip of water gurgling over the rocks and the whispering notes from the pine trees vibrating lightly in the breeze.

In the moment, I got lifted up by the lord. I went down to the river to pray, and I waited for the angel band to bear me away on snow white wings…

I wanted to pause my life for a moment, and experience that time as if on a video playback, with controlled forwarding from one delectable frame to the next.

I relive that amazing soul caress in my mind each year around this time, when summer peaks around the bend and plans unfold for festival season.

Of course there will be no festivals this year. But I can playback my powerful memories, and make a meticulous plan for next season.

Who’s up for some RockyGrass 2021?

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