My Journey with Jim Morrison
Chapter 1
When the Magic Comes, Open the Door
In early spring, Jim Morrison—poet, filmmaker, screenwriter, as well as lead singer and lyricist for the 60s rock band The Doors—began to visit me. Of course, it wasn’t in physical form because it’s been 50 years since his passing on July 3, 1971, in Paris, France. No, his visits were more enigmatic. He showed up in my meditations, my dreams, my shamanic journeys. After it started, I realized he had been hanging around in my peripheral vision for a while. You might say I’d been sensing his presence, along with an invitation to connect with him out there in that magical, mystical place of Rumi’s. “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there,” the Sufi poet wrote. That field seemed as good a place as any to satisfy my curiosity, so I accepted.
In the rabbit hole I went an explorer without a map. Once it started, I took in information at a rate and intensity that I can only describe as some sort of cosmic fever. Each new finding sent me deeper down the hole. I quickly realized I was attempting to put together a puzzle where the pieces shapeshifted according to whomever was speaking or writing about Morrison.
Shock-n-awe had me good. I was fascinated with this mystery man who, during his short 27 years here, defied being categorized, though many folks tried. I’m amazed at how after his passing—even now, 50 years later—he continues to amass and inspire new generations of fans.
Early on, I was in wonder about why Morrison had offered me an invitation to connect. I didn’t have in-depth knowledge about him. Mostly what I knew came from the morsels of information I’d picked up over the years that were floating around in the collective mind. While growing up, we had albums by The Doors in our house. I was intrigued with the lyrics, liked the music. But I took it in and enjoyed it as a layperson lacking any understanding of music theory.
However, during my recent research, I learned from those who know music, those critics who analyze and write about musicians, bands, vocalists for a living. I’ve gained more of an appreciation for the beauty of Morrison’s baritone and crooner voice, both wild and tender, as well as the timeless sound of The Doors. There was a particular magic in them coming together, a group of four highly educated, musically gifted artists: Morrison as vocalist, Ray Manzarek on keyboards, Robby Krieger on guitar, John Densmore on drums.
But despite all the information I was gathering, I was still left wondering why this poet and rock star had suddenly dropped into my sphere of awareness. In explaining this to an insightful colleague, she reminded me I didn’t need to know the why. All I really had to do was say yes to what came calling, go with it and see where it took me. She suggested I was experiencing what author Elizabeth Gilbert would call big magic, something she wrote about in her book by the same name.
That was it. Big magic was around me. I just needed to open the door and welcome it in. Of course, I know better than to let the logical mind have the reins when guidance that resonates shows up. Since I was a child, I’ve been saying yes to it. Though I’ll admit, occasionally, the logical mind still trips me up for a bit. My colleague’s advice was a reminder for me to shush the mind, open my heart, and shout out a loud and clear yes. When I did, I heard Morrison somewhere out in the field saying all right, all right, all right. Something I’d heard him say after he’d finished singing “Roadhouse Blues” during a live concert I’d come across online. (No, that expression was not a McConaughey original.)
I know there’s something to Morrison’s visit and the big magic around me. I’m in a period of transition. I’m a creatrix spreading her wings, a creativity contemplator ready for her next endeavor.
So, here’s to big magic. When it comes your way, I hope you too will open the door, say yes and welcome it in.
With Jim Morrison and big magic,
Naven
