Bones nearly ripped from my back

I wouldn’t necessarily say the towns where I grew up in Northeastern/Central PA were racist per se, but some racial attitudes there were disturbing, to say the least.

For the most part, the only minorities most of these folks, including me and my family, came in contact with were on television.

Lily-white, Christian, all down the line, mostly unaware of the ways of other races, religions, etc.

Which came to light one day in third grade. A couple of weeks before Christmas, Carol Breakstone, who sat across from me, suddenly said, “we don't have Christmas at my house. I don’t believe in Jesus.”

WHAT???? I had never heard anything like this before. I quickly did a Horshack (hand up, “ooh, ooh!”) interrupting the teacher to tell her of this scandalous and unheard of claim. The teacher calmly explained that Jewish people (Jewish? I didn’t know she was Jewish. We didn’t know anyone who was Jewish!!) thought and believed different things – to my memory, it was a well-thought out explanation on the spot.

Which was mostly different from some of the things that were routinely said by friends and family growing up, and I must say, I was complicit in some of the commentary.

I am not proud.

The N word in those parts was common, but no one was safe: Jews, Muslims, Native Americans and Blacks, everybody. Attitudes that were passed down through the years, generation after generation.

Distasteful, for sure. Yet still important to remember.

As for me, my world became more and more color blind, due to maturity and the infusion of soul and blues albums my brother kept bringing into the house; you cannot discount the influence this had on me. Because of him and these records, I knew that Arthur Alexander and Smokey Robinson and Little Richard were heroes to MY heroes, The Beatles. That meant something.

Of course, sports played a huge role in my world view as well. Minorities were unheard of in sports when parents grew up, and they became the majority during my childhood. The likes of Walt Frazier, Homer Jones, Ron Johnson, Earl Monroe and Willis Reed loomed large.

Now, many years later, things have changed back in my hometowns, at least somewhat. How do I know this? When visiting just before the 2008 election, I saw a significant number of Obama yard signs. Maybe a minor thing, but this would been unheard of 30 years ago.

My kids may never quite understand how Nelson Mandela, who died this week, changed the world as a whole.

They may also never know just how far they are from the much smaller world their dad grew up in.

I got a home on high, in another land, so far away.....

The quest for musical/spiritual transcendence has been a career-long quest for Van Morrison. On “Astral Weeks” he even claimed that he had reached his destination.

And on "Vanlose Stairway", he indeed comes close. Very close.

The series of events, places and people that make up our lives are often seemingly mundane. But like in Wim Wenders' life-changing and affirming “Wings of Desire,” it is finding joy and meaning in those moments that provide a reason for living.

And for some, the path itself that uses these touchstones as a markers in a search provides enough of that reason to believe.

Morrison’s stairway may be a literal place (for him, a neighborhood in Copenhagen), or a symbol of what is higher, be it physical or spiritual.

A moment. A place. A time.

And as with so much of his music, there is enough mystery here to get lost while maybe even still finding yourself.

He references a pillow, a Bible, a gee-tar, a Hindu text, physical love and a stairway that reaches up to the moon and back to you.

What does all this mean? I don’t know, and you don’t either. And I don’t think Van knows.

More importantly, I think, is the fact that it is all about the search itself. We are all searching, some more than others. Some may think they have found it. Others not.

The music cascades, going into the mystic, and cycling same through just three chords. These chords resolve into each other, again and again, creating a dreamlike atmosphere that simply does not go on long enough.

It is breathtaking.

Wherever Van is trying to get to, I want to go too. Or at least join him in the search.

We may be looking for different places, but we are the same journey, trying to find our own version of home.

Here's a version I especially like (although I haven't heard a bad one yet) that features Georgie Fame with Van yodeling and name checking Little Richard.