My word, a homage to an all time classic, you had me hooked from the moment you dropped the needle on the poetic record, and oh that record, that midway turn of black acetate, into the pulsating sound of Heartbreaker, gripped once heard and never let go. But, alas, I gotta go, with a whole lotta love for you my friend, I think I just saw Moby Dick coming up for air, out there, on the wild white crested seas.
A joy to read your work as always, Jim, ever word is an encounter with soul.
Thanks Will! Lots of music in between the shovelling this month. Its interesting what comes for us in this time of life to speak once again into a feeling. A being. Something ineffable. A song. Thanks for being here mate! Time to catch up soon! 💖
Thank you Jamie. I once had two big boxes filled with vinyls, and I just loved the scratchy noise of the needle. It was a very mindful process and kind of like a ritual to slowly prepare my body for the upcoming music. You make me want to have one again. 🤣 although I must say I also enjoy not having as much stuff in the house. Beautiful writing. Thanks so much for sharing. Your words are needed. Never stop!
Thanks Sadhbh! The ritual. We said. A little deeper than digital for the senses. Well said. A preparation of body. Of soul. Thanks for Being- Here. Thanks for your kindness. May we ramble on. 💖
Hi Jamie, the poem … lived, alive, beyond .. “Coarse with reckoning at the edges of broken bread chewing on the shadows.” The poem took me to a few known places of time and space and back again … with a bit of a wry smile. The records … you had me sitting on the floor flicking through the records (l really do need to buy a turntable), all lined up in their plastic sleeves … most from the 70 s and 80s … they smell like my favourite books.
That whole ritual of the record … 💚 yes, “we ramble on”, and yes, “we were always the song”. So many memories around the old records, our song lines. Fabulous Jamie, thank you. As you freeze, we swelter, 44 degrees here today, bushfires raging, smoke descending. I’ll swap you some heat for some snow 😂🔥❄️. Love Robert Plant btw.
Thanks Simone! Smiling too. The smell. The floor. The collection. Kept mine in Canadian milk crates. The plastic. Price written on in wax. The ritual of the record. An album. Song lines. Wrinkles in time. Of it yet not from it. Thanks for being here! Singing along. Rambling. Sending some cool winter your way to take the edges off the heat. Blessings. Stay safe. 💖
Yeah, mine were in milk crates for years too 🤣, along with the brick and planks of wood book shelves 🤣🙏. Your poem is brilliant, a song. You took me straight there … our rituals. Keep warm, keep the words coming. 🙏🌀💙
Thanks Muriel! “Entered” into. Not recalled. I feel into that! Well stated. “The song doesn’t belong to time; time gathers around the song.” Now thats a goosebump of words! Calling me to enter into with a pen and an invitation. Beautiful! Shovel well up there in Grey. Thank for being here 💖
Listening to Led Zeppelin is like going on an enchanting journey that one never wants to return from. True musical genius cloaked in ethereal beauty. 🤍✨
Thank you so much Grace for reaching out! Ethereal beauty speaks something beyond language. When I write, I’m just trying to get to the other side. Thanks for being here. 🙏❤️
Your words speak to my heart, Jamie: "An is-ness. That holds the past in the memories lived here. That hears the expectations of the future lived here. That breathes into the now in a circle of here. Is-ness. A being-ness."
The mythic embodiment of what has been and what may become living here, in us, now."
The memory of being in time and in no time all at once.
And that "is-ness"--the Hebrew letters that cannot be spoken--yud-hay-vav-hay (יהוה) "I am that I am." A Tetragrammaton. The "name" of God.
I just looked it up to see that "name" appears over 6800 times in the Old Testament. But even now, with every breath, I believe we are singing that name into Being. Ours.
"And now's the time. The time is now. Sing my song." ~ Zeppelin.
Thanks for breaking down every note in your paean to Ramble On.
Led 2 is my favorite. There was a time in 1974 where every party or gathering I went to in my high school peer group there was one of three albums playing; Houses of the Holy, Dark Side of The Moon, or Brain Salad Surgery. Hearing any song from any of those albums always gives me flashbacks of a more innocent and simple life.
Robert! Thanks! I know those albums well and definitely enter into something different when I hear them. Thanks so much for reaching out. You’re missing a wild winter up here in Ontario this year. 🙏❤️
I love that you have a record you never opened. I am not sure why. It feels sacred. Part of me says life is temporary…savor it all…rip it open…don’t waste time… and then there is the sacredness of childhood or young adulthood and an unopened record…the number 444 which is 12 which is 3. You always speak beyond my mind and my mind always sits steaming and confused. But my soul hears and there is a lot of beauty in that pristine vinyl. I want to say I wish I still had a record like that. Perhaps I do.
Thanks Terra! 444. Thanks for speaking soul. Thanks for being here. I’ve only ever done that to two records. Why? I tried to write it out in this article, but in the end, it’s just a feeling. Looking forward to the next segment of your big adventure. 🙏❤️
Jamie, I always look forward to your writing :). When I saw the title I was so excited. I wrote a piece a few years ago, called Sing My Song (Ramble On) and it was about the first time I heard this song too. Love the way you ebb and flow through the tangible album, how it felt to hold, touch, hear, play, the needle, saving our money, savoring the album as a showpiece,etc., the process we look back on and appreciate as if it is exactly the way we are supposed to be. That this is living to it's fullest. So well written.
We are a song.
Have you heard Stephen J. Wilson's album "Son of Dad?" There's the most beautiful song on it called "I'm A Song." Thank you Jamie. At 65, I felt it all. oxox
And the tactile experience with our beloved albums. Felt this in every word. Just beautiful, "Living on as souvenirs. In bone. Of skin. Through sound. Old records. We ramble on. Still unfolding. Sharing. Singing. The in-between. A becoming. A journey. Touching something, time and space, can never claim..."
I gave all my albums to Eva. She took the album covers and pinned them on her walls. Sacrilege some may say! I did hesitate but I handed them over on the condition that she listened to the music and let me "ramble on" about my associated memories. Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Cure, Bauhaus, The Clash, and always Led Zeppelin.
Happy snow digging in the is-ness of this Journey Jamie. xx
And I’m still digging out of the snow today! Thanks Jo for rambling on with me! I also showed the kids what music to listen to early and my middle guy has a rock band, who knows all the oldie goldies lol. Unfortunately, they still won’t let me sing or use my lyrics lol. Although I do admit to being in a Zep cover band for a brief stint in my late teens. Thanks as always for your kind comments and for seeing the pauses and the spaces in-between the words and in the poems. Thanks for being here. 💫💖
Dear Poet, oh how your very own ‘ramble’ moves like a lived current! Part memory, part myth, part marrow … carrying the vinyl crackle of a boy becoming and the gravity of a man still listening for what's singing beneath the surface ... of all things.
The way you braid sound, body, and time turns the ordinary into a soul pilgrimage, reminding us that the journey is never linear but always alive ... always unfolding. It was so wonderful to hear you sing too! The journey, an explosion of the heart I want to say.
Thank you so much Jamie, for inviting us into that tender, electric place where music becomes memory and memory becomes a way of being. Lots of love to you in your snowy world as we all ramble on. ❄️🙏💖
Thank you Dear poet. Braiding, sweet sound and body. It’s definitely a soul journey. A cuoeodyssey. An unfolding and a becoming. We are the song. Thanks so much for singing it with me. Here. In the spaces between the words. In the vinyl grooves. In the silence and between the sounds. We ramble on. 💖💫
Love! I need a record player, like STAT, so I can play all my old vinyl. I haven't bought a new one in forever, cuz those old ones are so amazing. Thanks for sharing! XO
My word, a homage to an all time classic, you had me hooked from the moment you dropped the needle on the poetic record, and oh that record, that midway turn of black acetate, into the pulsating sound of Heartbreaker, gripped once heard and never let go. But, alas, I gotta go, with a whole lotta love for you my friend, I think I just saw Moby Dick coming up for air, out there, on the wild white crested seas.
A joy to read your work as always, Jim, ever word is an encounter with soul.
Be well, be good, be strong.
Thanks Will! Lots of music in between the shovelling this month. Its interesting what comes for us in this time of life to speak once again into a feeling. A being. Something ineffable. A song. Thanks for being here mate! Time to catch up soon! 💖
I’ve heard from others it’s been a hard winter! Thanks for keeping the fire burning, I feel the heat and yes, long over due a catch up!
Thank you Jamie. I once had two big boxes filled with vinyls, and I just loved the scratchy noise of the needle. It was a very mindful process and kind of like a ritual to slowly prepare my body for the upcoming music. You make me want to have one again. 🤣 although I must say I also enjoy not having as much stuff in the house. Beautiful writing. Thanks so much for sharing. Your words are needed. Never stop!
Thanks Sadhbh! The ritual. We said. A little deeper than digital for the senses. Well said. A preparation of body. Of soul. Thanks for Being- Here. Thanks for your kindness. May we ramble on. 💖
Yes, for sure. The senses were far more involved in the old ways. It’s always about balance isn’t it?
Harmony indeed. Somehow the body keeps score and something around us is smiling. 🙏❤️💫
Hi Jamie, the poem … lived, alive, beyond .. “Coarse with reckoning at the edges of broken bread chewing on the shadows.” The poem took me to a few known places of time and space and back again … with a bit of a wry smile. The records … you had me sitting on the floor flicking through the records (l really do need to buy a turntable), all lined up in their plastic sleeves … most from the 70 s and 80s … they smell like my favourite books.
That whole ritual of the record … 💚 yes, “we ramble on”, and yes, “we were always the song”. So many memories around the old records, our song lines. Fabulous Jamie, thank you. As you freeze, we swelter, 44 degrees here today, bushfires raging, smoke descending. I’ll swap you some heat for some snow 😂🔥❄️. Love Robert Plant btw.
Thanks Simone! Smiling too. The smell. The floor. The collection. Kept mine in Canadian milk crates. The plastic. Price written on in wax. The ritual of the record. An album. Song lines. Wrinkles in time. Of it yet not from it. Thanks for being here! Singing along. Rambling. Sending some cool winter your way to take the edges off the heat. Blessings. Stay safe. 💖
Yeah, mine were in milk crates for years too 🤣, along with the brick and planks of wood book shelves 🤣🙏. Your poem is brilliant, a song. You took me straight there … our rituals. Keep warm, keep the words coming. 🙏🌀💙
Thanks so much! Right back at you. Keep em coming. 💫❤️
Have great day Jamie ❄️
yeah shit - thinking of you guys over there. 🙏❤️
Hey Jo, it was a bit fierce, though they have it contained atm. Mother Ocean sorted me out yesterday 🌊💙🙏
Beautiful. 🌊💙🙏
This reads like a benediction to embodiment—sound as sacrament, vinyl as vessel.
Memory not recalled but *entered*.
The song doesn’t belong to time; time gathers around the song.
Yes—*maybe we were always the song*.
Thanks Muriel! “Entered” into. Not recalled. I feel into that! Well stated. “The song doesn’t belong to time; time gathers around the song.” Now thats a goosebump of words! Calling me to enter into with a pen and an invitation. Beautiful! Shovel well up there in Grey. Thank for being here 💖
Listening to Led Zeppelin is like going on an enchanting journey that one never wants to return from. True musical genius cloaked in ethereal beauty. 🤍✨
Thank you so much Grace for reaching out! Ethereal beauty speaks something beyond language. When I write, I’m just trying to get to the other side. Thanks for being here. 🙏❤️
Your words speak to my heart, Jamie: "An is-ness. That holds the past in the memories lived here. That hears the expectations of the future lived here. That breathes into the now in a circle of here. Is-ness. A being-ness."
The mythic embodiment of what has been and what may become living here, in us, now."
The memory of being in time and in no time all at once.
And that "is-ness"--the Hebrew letters that cannot be spoken--yud-hay-vav-hay (יהוה) "I am that I am." A Tetragrammaton. The "name" of God.
I just looked it up to see that "name" appears over 6800 times in the Old Testament. But even now, with every breath, I believe we are singing that name into Being. Ours.
"And now's the time. The time is now. Sing my song." ~ Zeppelin.
Thanks for breaking down every note in your paean to Ramble On.
Isness. Thanks so much for sharing this Robin. Wow -goosebumps with what you wrote. “The memory of being in time and in no time all at once. “
"I am that I am." there’s definitely something in us and with us yet not of us that speaks through. Thank you for being here. 🙏❤️💫
It is my joy, Jamie. Thank you!
Led 2 is my favorite. There was a time in 1974 where every party or gathering I went to in my high school peer group there was one of three albums playing; Houses of the Holy, Dark Side of The Moon, or Brain Salad Surgery. Hearing any song from any of those albums always gives me flashbacks of a more innocent and simple life.
Robert! Thanks! I know those albums well and definitely enter into something different when I hear them. Thanks so much for reaching out. You’re missing a wild winter up here in Ontario this year. 🙏❤️
I love that you have a record you never opened. I am not sure why. It feels sacred. Part of me says life is temporary…savor it all…rip it open…don’t waste time… and then there is the sacredness of childhood or young adulthood and an unopened record…the number 444 which is 12 which is 3. You always speak beyond my mind and my mind always sits steaming and confused. But my soul hears and there is a lot of beauty in that pristine vinyl. I want to say I wish I still had a record like that. Perhaps I do.
Thanks Terra! 444. Thanks for speaking soul. Thanks for being here. I’ve only ever done that to two records. Why? I tried to write it out in this article, but in the end, it’s just a feeling. Looking forward to the next segment of your big adventure. 🙏❤️
I was in a canyon in California today by a lovely mountain stream…quite unexpectedly. Every day is an adventure in its own way 😉.
Never mind ice storms~
Jamie’s verse, vinyl rock on!
“May we ramble on”...
A whole lotta love
Rambling on towards the spring
A song of soul sing
Thank you so much Marisol 💖
Jamie, I always look forward to your writing :). When I saw the title I was so excited. I wrote a piece a few years ago, called Sing My Song (Ramble On) and it was about the first time I heard this song too. Love the way you ebb and flow through the tangible album, how it felt to hold, touch, hear, play, the needle, saving our money, savoring the album as a showpiece,etc., the process we look back on and appreciate as if it is exactly the way we are supposed to be. That this is living to it's fullest. So well written.
We are a song.
Have you heard Stephen J. Wilson's album "Son of Dad?" There's the most beautiful song on it called "I'm A Song." Thank you Jamie. At 65, I felt it all. oxox
Thanks Deb! I appreciate you stopping by. Beautiful comment and I will definitely check out that suggestion. Big hugs 💫💖
"of what was and what can be"
"of what can and can’t be"
"the mystery moans...."
Love this poem Jamie.
And the tactile experience with our beloved albums. Felt this in every word. Just beautiful, "Living on as souvenirs. In bone. Of skin. Through sound. Old records. We ramble on. Still unfolding. Sharing. Singing. The in-between. A becoming. A journey. Touching something, time and space, can never claim..."
I gave all my albums to Eva. She took the album covers and pinned them on her walls. Sacrilege some may say! I did hesitate but I handed them over on the condition that she listened to the music and let me "ramble on" about my associated memories. Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Cure, Bauhaus, The Clash, and always Led Zeppelin.
Happy snow digging in the is-ness of this Journey Jamie. xx
And I’m still digging out of the snow today! Thanks Jo for rambling on with me! I also showed the kids what music to listen to early and my middle guy has a rock band, who knows all the oldie goldies lol. Unfortunately, they still won’t let me sing or use my lyrics lol. Although I do admit to being in a Zep cover band for a brief stint in my late teens. Thanks as always for your kind comments and for seeing the pauses and the spaces in-between the words and in the poems. Thanks for being here. 💫💖
😀Bugger - you'd have some great lyrics to offer I imagine!
So cool that your son has a rock band and to know that you dabbled.
My pleasure Be-ing here. 💫💖
Dear Poet, oh how your very own ‘ramble’ moves like a lived current! Part memory, part myth, part marrow … carrying the vinyl crackle of a boy becoming and the gravity of a man still listening for what's singing beneath the surface ... of all things.
The way you braid sound, body, and time turns the ordinary into a soul pilgrimage, reminding us that the journey is never linear but always alive ... always unfolding. It was so wonderful to hear you sing too! The journey, an explosion of the heart I want to say.
Thank you so much Jamie, for inviting us into that tender, electric place where music becomes memory and memory becomes a way of being. Lots of love to you in your snowy world as we all ramble on. ❄️🙏💖
Thank you Dear poet. Braiding, sweet sound and body. It’s definitely a soul journey. A cuoeodyssey. An unfolding and a becoming. We are the song. Thanks so much for singing it with me. Here. In the spaces between the words. In the vinyl grooves. In the silence and between the sounds. We ramble on. 💖💫
Love! I need a record player, like STAT, so I can play all my old vinyl. I haven't bought a new one in forever, cuz those old ones are so amazing. Thanks for sharing! XO
Thanks Danielle 💖