Just over three years ago, a magical moment occurred in my life. Sometimes, even now, I think that the moment wasn't so much magic as miracle.
After playing the part of a single man, sometimes rather poorly, and oftentimes begrudgingly, an apparition appeared and all that ever was disappeared in an hour-long hike of Thumb Butte. The angst and palpable fear - fear borne on the wings of the conclusion that I would never experience true love - was lifted in that sixty minutes.
True love is so raw and powerful that to experience it is to never question its existence or its overwhelming potential to transform a person into someone, something, he or she had never been acquainted with nor aware was hidden deep in the recesses of his or her feelings. It is an electrical storm, alive with the wonder of lightning and the sound of thunder, that turns the barren desert into a carpet of gold. It is an experience that turns everything a brighter shade of beautiful.
It is a dream that happens to too few of us.
But it happened to me.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
My hour of darkness lasted twelve long years, from the moment I was divorced until that warm May evening when we hiked Thumb Butte. Yet, through all of that time, she was standing right in front of me. All those years at the YMCA when I sought to gain strength, strength of mind and body, she was standing right in front of me.
I just didn't know it.
We became one.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
I let it be everything that I could open my heart to. I let it be secret trysts at a little apartment whose floor creaked like it came straight out of Hollywood's haunted house department. I let it be wonderful conversations that spanned the gamut, from the politics of the election to the politics of love. I let it be a sublime vacation to Colorado, where our love rose higher than the surrounding snow-capped peaks. I let it be thinking of her with the warmest smile when sleep was overtaking me. I let it be a part of my being.
I let it be.
And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer, let it be.
To the wind I begged that I might not be blown forever, but rather be like a seed, to land in the fecund earth, be buried and to grow again. And the wind and the rain answered my entreaties, and I was set free from the past and put on a new course - to rise from the mundane and blossom. My body and soul became one and flowered joyously.
I had found an answer.
For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see, there will be an answer, let it be.
Just as night becomes day and mountains return to dust, everything is ephemeral, it is but a dream whose awaking comes at a time unknown. And by the time the crisp of early October was settling into the earth the shock of seeing something so beautiful disappear was not so great, but rather somehow expected. We all deal with are demons in different ways, and this was hers.
t, but rather somehow expected. We all deal with are demons in different ways, and this was hers.
I cannot say that I was overwhelmed with grief, for this was the first time in my life that I had given all that I could give, and I think that sated a heart hungry for completeness. I was prepared to move on and smile at what had been.
The human animal is eminently adaptable.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. There will be an answer, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
I moved on with my life. It was the best wisdom I could muster.
And I had a lot of fun times along the way.
And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.
The Beatles are an amazing story, more spell-binding and unimaginable than fiction. That four young men should come together and create a perfect musical synergy, out of all of the possible permutations and combination of people that compose the infinite string of humanity is equal to the chance of a planet forming at the perfect distance from a its mother star, form an atmosphere, contain an abundance of water, and slowly evolve into lush wildernesses, stark deserts, vast oceans and a sea of humanity.
My mind's eye goes back to our home at 2029 Ave I, in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. As a child, I shared a room, and a bunk (the top) with all three of my brothers at one time or another. The room was adorned with many posters, but the one(s) that lasted the many changes in wall decor throughout my youth were the four minis - Paul, John, George and Ringo - the famous shots from the White Album. They were haunting and beautiful. George with eyes of obsidian, Ringo and the lacy collar. Paul with stubbly beard. And John, so white as to appear unhealthy - or angelic. I often looked into those faces and pondered what they were thinking.
They took me through my childhood, arriving on the scene at the same time that my parents added yet another Dermer to the growing tribe and ushering me into the 1970s. By the time the Beatles broke up, I was working on my eighth year of being a general pest to my older brothers and sisters (and, more importantly, my parents).
So when I was faced with being single again, I turned not so much to my friends in Prescott, but rather inward, to those four faces and the music that was their contribution to the world. How many times have I listened to A Day In the Life? I would like to say more times than I have awoken to a new morning, but that surely can't be true. Yet the music is as fresh now as twenty years ago and forty-five years ago.
I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me.
Above the din of the many Dermer's talking, yelling, and running across the upstairs floor, I woke up to the sound of music - a piece of Americana now. Spinning at thirty-three revolutions per minute and topped with a platter of black, warped plastic, the record player brought music to life. I used to watch those platters wobble on their axes as music poured forth from two tinny, fake-wood speakers. The sound was crude with a premium on scratches, something unfathomable in the age of the MP3. Yet somehow that made it even more precious, beautiful and real.
Simon and Garfunkel, Arlo Guthrie, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Country Joe and the Fish, The Rolling Stones and all things hippie poured forth from those crappy little speakers, and it sounded to my young ears like manna from heaven. My older siblings had indoctrinated me into the world of music.
I would slowly drop the needle onto the record's surface, right before the song I wanted to hear. You could tell where songs were separated by the fact that that single groove that wound inextricably inward would have small regions where there was no music etched onto the vinyl, making it look different, cleaner. The grooves looked like concentric circles, but of course a record is composed of only two grooves: one on each side
With my kid dexterity, oftentimes the landing was like a car in a movie chase scene, after the speeding vehicle topped a rise. The needle would bounce up and down creating a cacophony of sound, its internal "shocks" bottoming out. But it got me to where I wanted to go, even if the record and its player were the worse for it.
Just like those movie chase scenes, I wanted to escape, but my escape was into a wall of sound that took me to my inner thoughts and my innate happiness.
My favorite all those years ago: Let It Be.
It had special meaning on those evenings two-plus years ago, when the days were growing shorter, the nights longer. It lent me strength.
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be. There will be an answer, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be.
We got together again, but magic only strikes once, and that if you are lucky. Try as we might, there was no way to get back to our secret garden. We were cast out just as Adam and Eve were from their Eden.
Try as I might, I could never find the key to the lock to the dream to the garden to the miracle.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
All things must pass, as George Harrison so famously wrote about his time with The Beatles.
And so it was.
I awoke one day from the dream that was so much like fantasy that to grip it was to try to hold sand with a sieve. I awoke one day from a dogmatic slumber that had arrested me for nearly three years. The seedling that had grown into a mighty oak tree was, at its heart, still an infinitesimally small part of the earth from whence it came. Just as the smallest of creatures must pass, so too must the mightiest. And the seed returned to the earth. Or did it ever leave? That I will never know.
And on a cold evening in January I said goodbye to a dream. I turned my back on a seed that I had cultivated with the greatest of care. I said goodbye forever.
I landed back to the place that I hoped to never see again, but saw coming as surely as death comes to all who live. I drove home that night, my car cutting through the crisp air, and never looked back, aside then to reminisce and draw an inward smile.
For though I had lost at love I think that Alfred, Lord Tennyson was right when he famously penned, "Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. There will be an answer, let it be.
The haunting piano starts off the score with a somber yet soaring tonic chord intro. I am moved to dichotomous emotions: melancholia and great hope. Like a siren, Paul layers his vocals on top of the piano score. Together they form a sound that is instantly memorable. Paul's words seem to be a prayer - the rest of the band harmonizing in the background add to the feeling that this is a spiritual dirge - that all that has passed will be forgiven and that in that forgiveness there will be redemption and, ultimately, growth of the spirit. Then Ringo begins a soft percussive echo. And as the Let It Be transforms from an almost gospel-inspired lament to a passion-driven rock' n' roll song, Ringo and George place more urgency in their respective spheres. Yet, there is still the haunting gospel note as John emerges with a mournful organ score that adds yet another layer of grace.
The drums come in more heavy, though never bombastic, and George's elegant guitar licks beg me to fall into the music, which I readily do. The song builds and builds in 4:04 of perfect musical craftsmanship. But it is not until George rips into a soaring solo, squeezing out every ounce of emotion from his six-string that we hear the Beatles at their complete greatness. The guitar cries and rejoices with each searing note. Paul's voice echoes this as, like George's Gibson SG, it becomes increasingly impassioned and emotion-filled. Following the crescendo, Paul, George, Ringo and John sustain the intensity at a level that is never reached again in their careers. They were masters and this is their opus and each note begs to be listened to, to be absorbed. Let It Be would be the final single the Beatles would release while still together.
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