I’m not much for religion.
Never have been.
I don’t know much about God. Can’t tell you if He or She is there.
Can’t tell you if they are listening.
I do know drums.
That’s different.
I’ve played outside a lot over the years.
Something changes out there.
The air changes. The sound changes.
You hit a drum under an open sky and it doesn’t stay the same sound.
It travels. It disappears. It comes back. Feels bigger. Feels heavier. More important.
More spiritual. Maybe that’s what prayer is.
I don’t know.
These days, when I drum, most of the time I figure I’m praying.
Not asking for anything. Saying “thanks.”
And mostly thinking about people.
I’ve been a drummer all my life. That’s a long time.
Long enough to know a lot of great players. Wonderful players.
Some are gone now. Some are hurting.
Some are fighting things nobody can see from the outside.
The list is too long. Way too long.
And I carry it. So today I went outside.
The Church of Drum.
No walls. No preacher. No book. Just drums, air and time.
And I prayed.
A lot.
For the ones who are gone. For the ones still fighting. For the ones I love.
Mostly, though, I said thank you.
I’m still here.
I drum.
I have something I can still give.
And the least I can do with what I’ve been given is use it for somebody besides myself.
So that’s what I did.
I played. I prayed.
Peace and love.