Purple Rein

I'm obsessed with Prince right now. His untimely passing has brought him back into the forefront of my mind, and Facebook feed. His music surrounds me, and fills my mind, articles about him and videos of him are all I've been reading. I'm learning more about him than I ever bothered to know before, back when I still hoped for the chance to see him perform live. I'm in awe of his talent, especially when reminded of his size--5' 2" tall and every cell of the man was creativity incarnate. I heard that he usually played all the instruments on the recordings of his albums, which is astounding in and of itself. His huge voice, his huge spirit, packed into that tiny man. I read today that he had epilepsy, but I'd forgotten that. I don't think it was a much talked-about part of his life. I also keep hearing that he was a Jehovah's Witness, which seems jarringly impossible. How could he be part of such an uncelebratory religion when he was so full of celebration and sexuality? It doesn't jive. Maybe I'm jealous that he was able to keep his faith while expressing the depth of his artistic nature (which is not to say that I miss the restrictions and oppression of religion, but the division from my family has caused me pain). 

I remember the first time I really listened to Prince. I was a kid, probably six years old, in the oh-so-purple bedroom of my older, oh-so-cool cousins. Thick, deep forest of purple carpet, and matching purple and lavender bedspreads, and lavender walls all around. It was utterly perfect! On the tape player was Prince. The organ music played and, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." was intoned by an authoritative voice, and I felt like I was in church--but TV church, not my own congregation, which was so different from the churches on TV (the crosses, the stained glass, the glorious white-clad brides marching down flower-filled aisles were what NORMAL PEOPLE had, not us). It was obvious that this song was referencing something from this TV-style of church that I saw as the standard, like neighborhoods with sidewalks and matching architecture. My own life did not measure up to these standards: I lived on a dirt road in rural, coastal Maine, with my nearest neighbors my grandmother and my aunt and uncle (and their kids, the aforementioned cool cousins), whose houses had been built by the men who lived there. There were weeping willows and apple trees and wild berry patches, and creeks and honey pots; the closest place to go for candy was the vending machine at the tiny municipal airport a couple of miles by bicycle. We did not live in TV Land, and I felt like we were the only ones who didn't. So, there was Prince, in all his purple splendor, who would have been camouflaged by my cousins' room, speaking out from the tinny speaker, telling me that life is just a party and parties aren't meant to last, but that there is a party in the afterlife, and that we should just "go crazy." I take comfort in those words. This man meant a lot of things to a lot of people. Maybe to me, the most meaningful connection I had to him was the intersection of religion and freedom, of being different--but he owned it. He showed us all how it was done. He moved with grace and ease through a world that was not designed with him in mind--he was his own size, gender, race, religion...he was comfortable being himself, maybe. It's easy for me to say that with so much talent it must have been easier for him to find his confidence, but he had hurdles to clear that many people don't. I just can't let go of him yet. It seems like he should still be here, dancing and composing and being beautiful.