The heart's rhythm... 1 of 2
daRiverWoman January 12, 10
Mmmmmm... it's very difficult to try to contain Billy Higgins inside of insufficient words for the sake of tribute, because he was so deeply spiritual and so profoundly connected and so generous with his love. He always 'taught' while (& I'm sure outside of- perhaps even more...)spending time with us in Leimiert Park Village... hangin out on the sidewalk, or inside the World Stage in conversation, or performing poetry, or jammin on Thursday nights with other musicians, or Mondays, teachin the babies about the rhythm they heard in their hearts beating out a path in their destiny's process. I had the distinct honor of spending some brief one-on-one time with him just talkin about following your heart, "marchin orders", doin what you love and being happy... At 3-4am hangin out at 5th Street Dick's (again and some more!) I shared with him a poem I'd written about my Daddy (also a celebrated Jazz musician during the Harlem Rennaisnace and here when Central Avenue was stirrin up musical history ). He hugged me, kissed me on the cheek and said, "wait right here, I need to get my guitar- and ran out of the coffee shop". Richard Fulton shrugged his shoulders and smiled knowingly while the two young women I was with sat as if called to attention in class. I followed his steps with my eyes, like a hungry child waiting to be fed. When he came back in he said, "Ok baby, you & me... read that again and this time- take your time". I did- while Billy played the most incredible Brazilian guitar I've ever heard, while I performed my poem. It will forever be recorded in my heart. We laughed, moaned, re-affirmed our connection, hugged, and nodded 'yes', 'yes', 'yes'. When I got home, it was sunrise and I was still hummin and bein grateful for such a once-in-a-lifetime experience. There's nothing like noticing the sky beginning to lighten from Leimert Park Village, when the last note is still resonnating, seeping through the last closing door. We all waved good-night, or morning. When I got home, it was sunrise. I showered, and went to work rested, revived, and renewed, and restored by the kind of love you can only find in the impulsiveness of art and the passion of Billy Higgins.
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