{"id":1073,"date":"2016-04-24T19:39:54","date_gmt":"2016-04-24T23:39:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/admin.patheos.com\/blogs\/pitstopforthespirituallybamboozled\/?p=1073"},"modified":"2016-04-24T19:44:04","modified_gmt":"2016-04-24T23:44:04","slug":"ballad-of-the-purple-rain-maker","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/pitstopforthespirituallybamboozled\/2016\/04\/ballad-of-the-purple-rain-maker.html","title":{"rendered":"Ballad of the Purple Rain Maker"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>
\n

You say you want a leader\"Prince\"<\/em><\/span>
\nBut you can\u2019t seem to make up your mind<\/em><\/span>
\nI think you better close it<\/em><\/span>
\nAnd let me guide you to the purple rain . .<\/em><\/span><\/h4>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Every century produces only a few of them. Prince<\/span><\/strong> was one. One what? Scholar? Genius? Inventor? Artist? Philosopher? Prophet? Scientist? What<\/span>?<\/em> Pull up a stool and I\u2019ll tell you What<\/strong> . . .<\/h3>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Well let\u2019s see . . I\u2019m sitting out back in my sun-baked yard; and what has caught my attention? The diaphanous beauty of newly sprung dandelions. Slight amendment: a few are lovingly \u2018enstalked\u2019 in the bated suspense of \u201cwhat\u2019s next?\u201d; a few have dispatched their seed-laden parachutes far and wide; and a few are basking (unassumingly) in fractal, spherical glory.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I sit in stillness and wonder . .\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

I never meant to cause you any sorrow<\/em><\/span>
\nI never meant to cause you any pain<\/em><\/span>
\nI only wanted one time to see you laughing<\/em><\/span>
\nI only want to see you laughing in the purple rain<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

That\u2019s just it, isn\u2019t it? When you cut through the bullshit, ego-bristling, jabber of our tenuous dispositions, what\u2019s left? A purity of soul that knows<\/em> how to receive and extend kindness with exquisite ease . . A soul lost in the \u2018Purple Rain\u2019 . . .<\/p>\n

\n

I never wanted to be your weekend lover<\/em><\/span>
\nI only wanted to be some kind of friend<\/em><\/span>
\nBaby I could never steal you from another<\/em><\/span>
\nIt\u2019s such a shame our friendship had to end<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Parent, daughter, son, sibling, lover, companion, mentor: we belong with<\/strong><\/em> each other; not to<\/strong><\/em> each other. When we figure that one out, we\u2019re back in the \u2018Purple Rain\u2019 . . .<\/p>\n

\n

I know, I know, I know times are changing<\/span><\/em>
\nIt\u2019s time we all reach out for something new<\/span><\/em>
\nThat means you too<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Not reaching out for \u201csomething new\u201d when the need is screaming at us, is to keep the ineffable dandelion imprisoned in its slender stalk. Don\u2019t do that, especially if you have a free ticket to the gig!<\/p>\n

You say you want a leader<\/em><\/span>
\nBut you can\u2019t seem to make up your mind<\/em><\/span>
\nI think you better close it<\/em><\/span>
\nAnd let me guide you to the purple rain<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Hmmm . .\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

If I had to capture the essence of Prince\u2019s lyric here, I would use the following Haiku poem by 19c Japanese monk\/writer, Ryokan:<\/p>\n

\n

The flower invites the butterfly with no-mind;The butterfly visits the flower with no-mind. The flower opens, the butterfly comes; The butterfly comes, the flower opens. I don\u2019t know others, Others don\u2019t know me. But by not knowing, we follow nature\u2019s course.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

The Purple Zone<\/span> is timeless, silent, mindless, and perfectly aligned with Source.<\/p>\n

\n

If you know what I\u2019m singing about up here<\/em><\/span>
\nC\u2019mon raise your hand<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

But we do, Prince! We do! It\u2019s just . . It\u2019s just that we can\u2019t put it into words like you.<\/p>\n

Wrap Up One<\/strong><\/p>\n

The eulogist at the funeral of Thomas Merton<\/a>, one of the 20th century\u2019s greatest contemplative writers, likened Merton\u2019s premature death (at 53) to the toppling of a freshly opened bottle of exquisite wine. Damn! It\u2019s gone . . and all we\u2019re left with is the fragrance . . .<\/p>\n

So take another whiff in honor of the Purple Enigma . . .\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Wrap Up Two<\/strong><\/p>\n

The raw, unadulterated, passionate play of \u201cThe Boss\u201d \u2013 take it away Bruce!<\/p>\n