Bamboo Flute

I am so fucking angry I could kick a hole in a wall. Or rip a door off the hinges. As if the day didn't start bad enough with me slicing into my finger while trying to cut a bagel...gushing blood as I was already late getting out the door...it got a hell of a lot worse when I got to the school I was working at this morning in DC.

My bamboo flute is cracked and split halfway up the body of it's tube, in four places. This is not the kind of cracking that happens with age and weather. This is from physical damage. It looks to me like someone stepped on it.

The last time I played it was last weekend at Ali and Forrest's potluck and fire circle gathering. And wow! What an amazing jam session that was. And it was probably that very night, while stumbling in the dark, that someone may have stepped on it, unknowingly. I don't remember leaving it in a precarious place, but it was dark, and there were lots of people around. It could have happened a few other times, too...but it really doesn't fucking matter what the details are, when it happened. At some point something happened, and it is severely damaged, and I am furious.

Patrick Olwell is the flutemaker. He used to come to the Maryland Renaissance Festival, and I bought one of his flutes there. This one, though, was a gift from a student...and it became my favorite flute ever. It has been with me as I have travelled across four continents, it has been played in sacred places all over the world. It has been the voice of my soul, as Madre Ayahuasca has opened my creativity, and it has been my pathway beyond the rigid lines of classical music into the world of free musical expression, improvisation, allowing divine music to flow through me. Fuck!! I had just begun to seriously talk with John about doing a recording on this flute, too. Now what do I fucking do?!

Patrick Olwell doesn't make these flutes anymore. I called him a few years ago when a student of mine was wanting one, and he informed me that he only makes wooden flutes now. I dug out his phone number and email today, and have emailed him with my situation. I don't know what to do...I can only hope that he can either miraculously fix this one, or maybe he still has a few old ones still in his shop, or maybe I can convince him to make me one.

You know, if someone stepped on my expensive, fancy silver flute, I would probably not give two shits. But this one...why this one?! And seriously, world, how much more of the most important things in my life must I give up right now??? First Familiar kitty, now this flute? I can't think of a lot of things that mean more to me. If something were to happen to Friday, I would say fuck it all and join the peace corps.