We celebrated Prince in classes this week, which was a fun and poignant endeavor. We practiced Hanumansana and Upavista Konasana--both poses you would see him incorporate into his performances--and waived our arms concert-style in Warrior II. Part of the grief we all feel is a feeling that a genius has left the world and that we just won't see that again. And, that is true in a sense, but if you consider the Celtic view of genius, it shifts a bit.
The Celts did not believe that a person WAS a genius, but that they HAD a genius (think of a genie in a bottle--same root). Prince had mad mad mad skill. He created the environment for his Genius to arrive through his skill and devotion to his craft. And then came the key . . . he opened himself up to receive his Genius . . . to receive what the Universe, the Muse, the Awen, the White Goddess wanted to say through him. You can see it distinctly when he plays his guitar on stage. All the hours of practice, bloody fingers, late nights give way to a portal that opens and flows through him. And in this way, we also see distinctly how he could be so humble. He knew there was more to his art than just his skill. He knew there was something MORE that flowed through him and he simply couldn't and wouldn't try to take credit for it. We may not all have the musical skills he cultivated, but we all have the capacity to tap into our own Genius. Sometimes the loss we feel when someone we see as genius passes, is also a deep feeling of loss for the Genius that we haven't yet opened up to within ourselves.
In this year of Live Your Legend, and embarking into my expanded professional vision, The Sovereign Path, I am so deeply grateful to have had such a great example of these two sentiments.
Good Night Sweet Prince and thank you.