Vol. 64, Perfection
Up until last year, the MTA provided a break from the onslaught of advertising with their Poetry in Motion series. On quite a few occasions, Ive found myself nailed to my seat after reading a few lines of a poem. In addition to livening up my daily commute, the Poetry in Motion series gave me the spiritual benefits of art, even when I wasnt looking for it. Recently, the MTA has switched gears, by beginning to provide quotes from history, philosophy, literature, and science. This month I've been mulling over a quote in a newer subway series called Train of Thought. The quote that grabbed me was from German philosopher Immanuel Kant. It read: Out of the crooked timber of humanity, nothing entirely straight can be built.
There are various translations of this quote, yet all amount to the same thing: we humans were born crooked, imperfect, fallible, therefore nothing that is of us may be perfect, infallible, entirely straight. Ive thought of this often in regards to political constructs, politicians, and social experiments. Many a political career, public initiative, or alternative group have been built from a pure heart. Sometimes those efforts shoot straight for a very long time (others collapse immediately), but inevitably, they all veer off course in one way or another. Relationships struggle under the weight of Kants observation as well. Some in a glaringly obvious way, others in subtle, but insistent ways. The drift away from pure intention cannot be avoided. It is our birthright as humans to veer, sway, and diverge. Its what makes us human.
During the weeks I was mulling over this Kant quote, a friend sent me a video of Al Green singing For the Good Times. The 1972 Soul Train performance presented, for me, a fascinating mix between the mundane nature of humanity and the sublime power of art to transcend an individual persons limitations.
Watching Al Green, I was instantly aware of humanitys crooked timber: from his slightly-mussed afro, to his facial expressionssometimes pained, sometimes wise, sometimes devilish, but always human; to his gold-heavy wrists and fingers; to his dogged-to-the-point-of-annoying repetition of the phrase Lord have mercy, Green is clearly a fallible and vulnerable being. And yet, the lyrics, the expression, the emotions he poured into the song had me transfixed. He seemed to weave in and out of being an average man and a supremely blessed creator casting spells with his craft. Somehow, in the thrall of the creative act, the crookedness of the timber becomes irrelevant. Out from that creative effort, perfection arrivesand it shoots straight to the heart.
In the crux of creation, the flawed nature of humanity is not a deficit but the motor that powers our momentary escape from the crooked confines of our timber. The space between the mundane and the sublime is the place where art is made. At a recent concert peopled with musicians I see around town, I found myself marveling, once again, at the juxtaposition of the mundane and the sublime. It was a great night of art-making: the musicians were sizzling, the vocalist was hot, their sound was tight. Even as I was transported by their performance, I remembered the mundane moments of their lives. I remembered seeing them dragging their equipment down the street to hop a train because they dont have cab fare; seeing them during the a.m. commute, face scrubbed clean of make up, wearing unremarkable cable knit sweaters and dull auras.
As they rocked it out onstage, I imagined a split screentheir real lives on one side: the money problems, the love problems, the depressions, the lack of motivation, the self pity and the self hatred that we all deal with as human beings. And on the other side, the sizzling heat of their talent, the raw ferocity with which they attacked the music, and shared the vibes with the audience. It is certainly a sublime experience to witness what happens when ten artists (or even just one artist) gather together in the name of spirit and inspiration, and show just how straight the timber of humanity can shoot.
At the end of the day, its always therethat crooked timber, but our capacity to create the sublime is ever-present as well. Are we irregular, inconsistent creatures? Yes. Yet we possess perfection through our creations, inventions, and superhuman feats. There is no point in trying to BE perfect, that is absolutely impossible. We were born of crooked timber and shall die in possession of it, as well. But throughout our lives, we can be something else, too. We can put ourselves in the nexus of creation, make things with these wonderful minds God has given us, and beas often as possibleat our most beautiful.
Be well. Be love(d).
Kiini Ibura Salaam