Reading the other day about the deeper meanings of the word Amen, a memory surfaced.
A memory from the summer of 1971. I was seventeen years old; young yes. I was hitchhiking around Europe, and as for this memory in particular, I was sitting day by day in the Dam Square in Amsterdam.
The memory of which we are speaking involves chanting. One day (or it could have been more), chanting, along with dozens, perhaps hundreds of hippies, freaks, travellers from all over the world, assorted tourists and locals.
Chanting Amen. Just like Sidney Poitier sings in Lilies of the Field. Minus all the verses; we chanted the chorus only. Amen. To help get the vibe, just go here.
Anyway, it was a nice memory, a memory of a day (and more) of music in a time of exploration, on the road and trying to be free.
More that that though: experiencing the memory gave me the feeling that that day, in the Square, had included at least a moment of devotion.
Sure, it was likely just one more tune among many sung during those times, but as I think about it now, I sense a distinct vibe of devotion and praise. I recall a sense of a kind of rejoicing in the word itself – Amen.
Anyway, here is the resulting poem. Do look up the chant; and do please join in, add your voice – your own distinct vibration – to the gathered voices.
Amen
DAYS OF AMSTERDAM CHANTING
Once upon a time
I hitchhiked to Holland.
Another mad attempted escape,
trying to leave the madness behind.
Amen.
Crashing in the park in the night,
beneath a bridge – when it rained,
behind the bushes – when it didn’t.
Amen.
Squatting in the Square in the day.
Sometimes singing days.
Dozens of hippies, freaks,
travellers, and even a few tourists and locals.
Amen.
Many memories of those days remain. Like this one:
I was 17, you see, in those days, squatting in the Square – Dam Square.
Music in all directions. Truly surround sound.
Guitars, bongos, reedy things like flutes and whistles,
even a trumpet I can recall.
Amen.
Then, a chant erupts, and soon engulfs the gathered.
Amen … Amen … Amen, Amen, Amen.
And, now, I’ve joined the chanting,
maracas shaking held high, as if in exalted devotion,
as I sway to vibration overwhelming.
Amen.
This entrancing word, this creative vibration,
how long did it linger, permeating
the very air I was breathing?
Amen.
Memory informs: it was hours.
That is to say, it was eternal – or was it a mere moment? Same.
Of course, Amen – Om – the vibration of creation
was never born, is never changing, always existent.
Amen.
Always creating. Always dissolving.
Then again creating.
Making manifest that which was unmanifest.
Amen.
Or, is it a sound and light show?
Amen, the word, the vibration, the sound
shining a light on what is there already?
And what is there already,
is all there is.
Amen Amen Amen
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 