The Community of Lost Musicians

Pulling the guitar out of the car I rush because the wind whipping off the ocean is brutal, the sun has set, it's pitch black though good Karma and the secret of acceptance led me to a lone parking place directly in front of Doc's Bar.

Rushing pass the bar and folks playing bumper pool, I give hugs to the players already playing in a church like sort of greeting with the community of lost musicians.

At some point in each of our lives music came first.

Some aggressively pursued it while others just wished or sang in the car with the radio blaring ... perhaps alone in the shower.

At this point in our lives though, we're all players again.

Every Tuesday night in the back room of Doc's Bar the congregation gathers. Some sit on a pew while the rest take bar stools.

And the sharing begins.

Everyone takes a turn taking the lead.

We go round and round, sharing songs and stories, mistakes and marvelous moments of wonder.

Those in the bar or playing bumper pool likely hear our choir of drunken angels.

It's very church like in that the community of believers are never the same and their is no High Priest.

Actually we resemble a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous with guitars, harmonicas, conga drums, an occasional upright bass and an autoharp last night!

There's lots of encouragement though everyone screws up forgetting lyrics or mishitting chords.

It doesn't matter because we're all doing the best we can to share ourselves.

A couple have higher aspirations to get paid to play but its just the joy of the music that keeps us coming.

I wish church was more like this.

Politics too!

Two hours quickly pass so I load up my ax, stumble outside and see Tybrisa Street is completely engulfed in Tybee cops.

They got bad ass faces and guns.

I got a guitar.

I like my chances.