Mother Russia, John Coltrane

my poor, quavering heart has recently been reassured of the sanctity of struggle, human struggle, by Nikos Kazantzakis. As he diverged from his path up the grassy hill to meet Buddha and arrived in the skin-cracking cold of the breath of Mother Russia and the eye of Father Lenin, i discovered my 1961 complete recordings of John Coltrane. i had only very recently, and only once, risen to these recordings. they were still a mystery to me. as i listened, i realized that what he is talking about is struggle. to some thin ears(like mine, in the past) hear this struggle as the torturings of a novice, a confused student, struggling with music. but at this point Coltrane isn't even talking about music. he speaks of struggle as if he were speaking about balance, he speaks about injustice as if he were speaking about equality. Coltrane is not walking on unbendable grass to find Buddha, he is crushing the gravel of the path under his feet as he slowly ascends with the cross on his shoulders, against his neck.
We are men, and we are women, and so we are inherently unbalanced. everywhere there is too much yin, too much yang. the only hope of the artist is to balance these opposing forces as much as possible. no art is possible with the one and the other. the feminine energy is the driving creative force within us, the womb for expression, and the channel for divine direction. it, perhaps, embodies the Question. the masculine is the discipline of practice, control(quality control), and the sure, unhesitating(don't ask directions, don't go back) footing that is needed for any improvisation. this equilibrium is where Miles playing a ballad and Coltrane playing Chasin' The Trane converge. in Coltrane's playing you can hear the struggle to make these ends meet, and at the apex of the struggle, of effort, we hear effortlessness. He is riding in a flaming chariot across the sky, pulled by two huge mares and in all the twists and turns and ascents the horses make, he is right behind them, slack in the rope, challenging them for more. and so balance occurs; every humble, inquisitory idea is put forth with the force of a gale, uniting the question and the answer into One. this music cannot be listened to by the ears, only the chest and forehead; that is where it comes from.