Free Range Buddhas and their bubble machine of healing through wholeness
Hatched is a new album from Santa Fe's uncontested embrace of unity through acceptance and personal accountability. They make relevant music groovy.
There are eras and phases of conflict when metaphor delivers a profound message of mortality to cloak the emphasis of brutal urgency; a condensed experience spanning not only the life of the poet, but succinctly capturing the suffering, in its totality, the ancient spirits before Her in a contemporary prose.
Vanity through language is metaphor.
Ego unrestrained through propaganda is dangerous metaphor, the escalating violent filling of the hole excavated by desires of the mind. It all feeds into vanity and the story repeats so often it becomes indifferent.
In the fifty contiguous states, vanity has evolved into a public stage of ego unrestrained. A popular group think so overwhelmingly grotesque, metaphor would only dilute and delay the urgency.
Because they’re stupid.
Free Range Buddhas ain’t no metaphor. Their long awaited album, Hatched, is a solid hour of truth in plain language, set to a Sesame Street, easy-to-follow-along-trippy-hippy park ranger guide (but make it relevant and mystical) highlighting the most obvious to everyone but them, the stupid ones, the irrefutable root cause of our collective eradication through violent hypocrisy.
Men and their unchecked, nontransferable, and utterly false sense of immortality, developed in fear over millennia to eradicate love by way of instilled indifference.
The hole of emptiness supernova in scope they literally have zero capacity to see it as their soul exposed. The stupid ones. They don’t know everything is a mirror.
The spiritual healing power of Hatched journeys an open spectrum of nonbinary harmony, the healthy and creative push/pull of both mother earth (feminine) and father sky (masculine), through a conduit of vibrational existence.
Free Range Buddhas are not attacking men, manhood, or gendered (social construct) boxes in their stories of authenticity from hierarchal abuse; they reveal the nuclear pit of the modern day plague about to wipe us all off the damn planet. A surreal and idiotic eradication of wholeness in community where spirits are harmonious with shared and individual experience.
Every human has two spirits. Free Range Buddhas give us a dire road map to seek, accept, and nurture the journey to familiarize the two into a lens of singularity. Spiritual waypoints on a spectrum of immaculate, yet oppressed existence.
Only after they accept their rejected feminine unity will they cede the violence. Rejection expands into an exponent of fortified distrust, the fatal absence of compassion and empathy for individual placements on a mirrored perspective.
Hatched is an urgent run through the woods and meadows of violent and freakishly accepted hypocrisy, a child bleeding from the gut wound of its father’s unhealed wrath, instinctively darting toward the river of protection that is tribe in human presence; not family. not hierarchy. not patriarchy. not destruction of all mankind.
Free Range Buddhas are the warriors on the mountain top alerting the village below.
Healing begins with listening. Sitting on the soft air front porch in the cool of the early May evening, feet slightly cold from the pier and beam concrete floor shaded by an array of river valley oak trees, listening to Hatched, making peace with my own ending of the story. The masculine awareness of my faults, the feminine fortitude to do better, and the acceptance of unity within a cosmos of all human suffering.
FRB are actively transferring emotion and playful arrangements of glorious sonic measure and medium, roadmapping abuse brilliantly in tone and warmth in arrangements. They do it like no other. It was a divine pleasure to spend an afternoon meditating and experiencing their new album in a new worldly home of corporate and generational greed, uncontested.
Stringer
