MP3 D.S. Lionfire - Jerusalem A Symphonic Saga

A Rock Opera with World Fusion elements, lyrically inspired by the Mystucal Love Poets ...Rumi, Hafiz, and Kabir.

13 MP3 Songs
ROCK: Progressive Rock, WORLD: World Fusion



Details:
JERUSALEM A SYMPHONIC SAGA

part I The Mask of Love

A Rock Opera in 7 Colors

âA mystikal psychoanalysis
of the veils between
mortal and divine love .......â

Jerusalem A Symphonic Saga ... part 1 âThe Mask of Loveâ ... is the first recorded CD of a seven part rock opera by D.S. Lionfire.

Originally written for the stage over a period of 20 years ... itâs a musically eclectic, spiritual allegory, which uses the crucible archetype of âJerusalemâ ... to portray various aspects of the mortal and spiritual drama of human existence.

In the play, âJerusalemâ is portrayed as a woman, having three suitors, representing .... Judaism ... Christianity ... and Islam ...

They all seek her exclusive love and attentions, by claim of their own particular historical, religious, cultural, racial, psychological, and gender paradigms ...

Throughout the work, Jerusalem strives to lift the suitors to the vaster understanding ... that the Creator has brought her forth for all ...
and all ... are the inheritorâs of her divine grace, guidance, and devotions.

She challenges them to rise above the self - limiting identites that keep them caged in the small boxes of âothernessâ ... that they may ascend to the ...

âMystical Pathâ ... the true âWarrior Pathâ ... the true âJihadâ ... that dares face âthe battle within ... â and venture the transcended path that carries them to the ...

âDance of Loveâ ...and back to the Creatorâs Feet ... and Oneness of âDivine Beingâ.


The History of Writing ...
Jerusalem A Symphonic Saga


In 1979, D.S.Lionfire went on a pilgrimage through Europe and the Middle East ... to the tomb of Avatar Meher Baba ... in India.

Along the way, he visited many places of spiritual significance to him...

Stonehenge in England .... Notre Dame of Paris ... the Alps in Switzerland ... St. Marcoâs of Venice ... St. Francisâs cave in Assisi ...
St. Peterâs Cathederal in Rome ... the Blue Mosque of Istanbul ... the Acropolis in Greece ... and Pyramids of Egypt.

During his travels in the Middle East, he at one point sailed from Alexandria, Egypt , across the Mediterranean, to civil-war torn, Beirut ... During that voyage, he was invited to stay at the home of a Lebanese friend he had made on the ship.

Upon arriving in Beirut, he and his new friend were given a choice by a taxi driver, to âtake the long wayâ or go through a âsniper zoneâ to get to the friendâs house. After choosing âthe long wayâ, the driver abuptly decided he would take the âshort wayâ.

Upon having his guitar case, tensely searched at two barricaded check points ... the sojourner decided to politely bow out of his new friendâs invitation... and somewhat graciously ... or ungraciously ... decided to venture immediately onwards towards Jerusalem ... his primary destination in the Middle east.

He bid farewell to his new friend of whom heâd had such long and rich conversations ... under sun and stars ... traveling âdeck classâ on the Mediterranean freighter.

As he arranged an overland taxi in downtown Beirut, he gazed at the bullet and shrapnel scarred buildings ... of what once was considered the âRiviera of the Middle Eastâ ... and was silently torn by the pierced melacholic paranoia ... that seemingly could be, âscraped out of the airâ, in this beautiful land of which Kahlil Gibram once wrote ... âThe Prophet â.

After a few hours, he took a taxi with three other travelers, up into the mountains of Lebanon ... and precariously, without a visa, traveled through the night across a desert plain... to Damascus, Syria.

To the chagrin of some unamused border officials ... and the taxi driver ... (but fortunate and angelic protection of some fellow travelers), he arrived in Damascus near dawn.

A peculiar and somewhat troubling sight to some of the Syrians in the bustling bus and taxi station ... he was again taken under the wing of an Arab traveler, who altercatingly, but unfledgingly, translated to an unwilling taxi driver, the need of the sojourner to board his taxi and find his way to Amman, Jordan.

After a replenishing stay in a cheap, but clean and airy hotel in the heart of Amman, he aquired the proper papers to cross the Jordan River to enter Israel ... and then onwards to his rendezvous with âJerusalemâ.

It was his week in the âOld Cityâ of Jerusalem ... that the seeds were planted for his writing of âJerusalem A Symphonic Sagaâ.

It wasnât long in the âOld Cityâ, that Jerusalem became for him ... a place permeated with the piercing, archtypical ... âTerrible Beautyâ, of antiquittal lore, or in his translation ... â a price will be payed, to behold it ...â

A strange and Chimerasque music seemed to perfume through the airsâ of Jerusalem ... and everyone seemed to move to it ... and breath to it ... whether they knew it, or not.

Jerusalem became for him the âCrucibleâ ... of the told ... and untold stories of the mortal and spiritual struggles of Mankind ... and itâs ancient, enduring efforts, to raise itâs love and possessive embraces of the Earth ... to a new Love and Transcension, that arcs beyond the veiled contingencies of the World ... into the resplendent aureoles of the Heavens ....

He had many vivid experiences and imaginings while staying in the âOld City â...

On his first visit to âDome of the Rockâ ... he found himself in the holy mosque... alone (except for the keeper) ... at sunset... gazing upon the âRockâ ... of which it is believed Abraham was bequested by God to sacrifice Issac on ... Jesus was to have preached His message of love and mercy... and Mohammed, was to have made His âNight Flightâ, on His white horse, through the kingdoms of Heaven ... to the feet of Allah .......

It was on that early evening, that he had a vivid imagining of Mohammedâs Night Flight ... and it appeared to him as if beholding a Grand Ascension painting of ElGrecoâs ... hued in the colors of Renoir and Monet ... and then somehow set ablaze with the fiery brushstrokes of Heaven ...

and it wasnât the sight of the Imagining ... but the âPresenceâ within the Sight .... that so deeply moved him ...

He unknowingly made his first visit to the âWailing Wallâ ... on the Jewish holy day of âYom Kippurâ ...

After standing before the remaining wall of Solomonâs Great Temple and trying to fathom itâs ancient presence ... and then leaving his âprayers and noteâ in the sacred Wall ... he proceeded to the back of the Sanctum with guitar case in hand ... and once again in the Middle East, was asked to reveal the contents of his guitar case.

The usual sigh of relief appeared upon the eyes of the two young uniformed gentlemen, with sub-machine guns swaying at their sides ... when they beheld the glistening wood and strings ... of a vintage Gibson guitar.

Unkowingly to him ... off to the side, also beholding this peculiar revealment ... were two young children whose attention had been captured by the quiet, below the radar, drama. As the soldiers walked contentedly away ... the eager expressions of, âplay us a songâ were gestured from the faces of the two boys.

He at first felt it wasnât the time and place to play a song ... but upon watching the persistence and earnestness, dancing in the eyes
of the two young children, he concluded the âArchitectâ of his journey was inviting the sojourner to play a song of his pilgrimmage ... at one of the worldâs holiest sites ... enroute to the tomb of âthe Ancient Oneâ ... Avatar Meher Baba ... in India.

He softly played a song for the two young children, before politely being asked to leave by some of the elders ...

( âdear mothers and fathers ... throughout the landâ) ....âThe Times They are a Changinâ / Dylan


And it was while walking the âVia Dolorosaâ ... (the crucifixion walk of Christ to the Cross) ... he painfully heard on an inward level... the tragic, âweeping and knashing of teethâ of biblical narration... and unwillingly beheld in his mindâs eye ... âpools of bloodâ flowing through ancient, arched passageways of this incongrously cruel and triumpantly persecuted City ...

On ... worn, smooth stones ...

of Journey and Destiny ....

leaden chained ... and golden threaded ...
together, in the swiriling crucible

of the âmortal winnowingâ ...

of Darkness from Light .......

he wondered, at the Suffering of Christ ...
the price ... the Prophetâs pay ...
the price ... the Mortals pay ...

mayadramatically Kaliâd ...
... into the Phantasmagorphic Journey ...

of ... Trial and Tribulation ...


and Transformation ....

back into the embraces ...
of the Creatorâs ...

Grace and Glory .......

After a week, and many other stories in the âOld Cityâ ... ( and New and Future City) ... he parted and carried with him a spiritual ... âtorch and scarâ ... that still burns and aches inside him, in an unsoothed âinternally phoeinixed dramaâ.

He crossed back over the Jordan ... into Amman ... where within a few days he flew to Iran ... where for three days he was confined in Tehran at the âMehrbad Airport â... three weeks before the American Embassy takeover of â79â.

While there, he was treated kind and compassionately by the Iranian people ... perhaps intuitively aware of the honor and care given a traveler in oneâs land ... but he drew a âhard lineâ from the government officials at the airport, who were no doubt under pressure to not grant such graces ... especially to an American travelor.

Fortunately for him, he had bought a mystically insightful book about âWhitmanâ and âLeaves of Grassâ while in Alexandria ... and it pleasantly transported and carried him through the minor stings of sleeping on plastic chairs and eating sugar cakes and Iranian cola for two days ...before receiving army rations from the embassy, the day before leaving for India.

After his third paradoxical day in Tehran... he took a night flight to New Delhi ... and arrivived in the country of his final destination ... When his feet touched the ground, the words âMother Indiaâ seemed to surge through his entire being ... and it felt as if it was the first time he was âHomeâ ... in his lifetime.

After passing through Customs at 4 AM, he took a bus through New Delhi, where he was left off at a small park, near the railway station.

Upon entering the park, he stopped and quizically conversed with an uncannigly, personable Myna bird ... almost at armâs length, above him in a tree. The absurbly cryptic conversation ... with the bird gazing in his eyes ... went on for a vacumned space of time, of five to ten minutes ... during which it seemed the bird was ... mystically sizing him up ...

Then, almost as if breaking a trance, he said good - bye to this creature of seemingly antediluvian knowing... and proceeded to the railway station to catch the âdawn trainâ to Bombay.

Upon arriving at the railway station, curious and happenstance sight to some of the Indians ... another backpacked and weary Westerner, but with guitar in hand and he was soon asked to play a song for the growing crowd of passengers on the platform.

Somewhat shyly and hesitantly, he released his guitar from itâs case,
and sang a song ... whose inner fire quickly turned to ash the reluctance he had originally felt ... and he rode the vision of the song into the hearts of the grateful onlookers ... and was thereby baptized in the playing of his music on many occasions in India.

He was then disentangled from the crowd, by a young woman lawyer from Bombay and guided to the part of the platform where I could catch my third class coach. She seemed to wonder at a Westerner riding âthird classâ, but he assured her, that at this point in his journey, third class would be a luxury ride.

They soon bid each other âgood travelsâ, as she moved on to first class and he boarded the bustling, loud and crowded, wooden seated, Shaker simplistic ... coach to Ahmednagar.

He soon feel into a deep, slumberous sleep, forgivingly buttressed by the shoulders of two fellow passengers ... and had a rich archtypical dream, that was later to become of much significance to him.

Upon waking ... he remembers the thick, fragrant heat of day and the airs permeated with myriad scents and smells ... of this new world that was whirling by ... outside his train window.

He viewed the cities, villages, and countryside... abustle in the âten thousand undertakings of Manâ ... curious at the men adorned in their sunlit, white cotton coverings ... and awed by the women ... gowned in exotic, rainbowed sari âs ... as if waiting for âKrishnaâ ... or âGodâs Messengerâ to arrive at any moment to their home and table ... for tea.

He remembers the irridescently emberous skies of evening, bloom from the late afternoon, furnaced skies ... and imperceptively fade into the velvet indigo of coming night.

And then he watched the mysterious, wood fires begin to appear on the hillsides ... as if a nightime ritual of praise and beauty ... to the light that had temporairily traveled off to sleep.

He recalls the crystal stillness of the sky at midnight ... as others lay asleep ... gazing out his window, with cool breezes glazing his eyes .... and configuring in his mindâs eye, a new constellation from this yet unexplored angle and hemishere of stars ...

And he constructed an ... âEcstatic Loverâ .... breast arcâd and bursting forth ... into worldâs beyond ... the visible embraces and sparkled glitter of distant sunfires ... physically etched on the molecular membranes and symmetries ... of fleshen eyes.

He was at one point, untarnishedly... chastised by the conductor, in the middle of the night for contentedly sleeping on the floor with .... âuntouchablesâ... or what the soujourner considered, âfellow untouchablesâ.

Late afternoon the next day, he arrived happily, but quite exhausted, into Ahmednagar ... whereby he immediately proceeded to the tomb of Meher Baba ... in Meherazad.

His stay and experiences in Meherabad and Meherazad (where Meher Baba lived and conducted most of the activities of His life), remain primarily the stories and experiences for another day ... or perhaps for only the inner sanctum of his own heart ...for much of the inner essence of that experience is quite ethereal ...and at times mystical ... and not easily conducive or accessable to the laced language and most clever symbolism of words ... (perhaps that has someting to do with why Meher Baba observed âSilenceâ for forty- four years).

He will say, how fortunate he was, to have met many of Meher Babaâs closest disciples (Mandali) while in India ....

Mehera, Eruch, Mani, Padri, Pendu, Dr.Goher, Katie, Meherji, Mansari, Arnavaz, Korshed, Rano, Nargis, Aloba, Bhau, and Bal Natu... and in northern Hamirpur District ... (where Baba said His âHeartâ was ... ) ... Keshav Nigam and Pukar.

Heâs never met before or since ... human beings permeating such close presence ... to Heaven, Spiritual Grace, and the Divine ... and considers it one of the greatest blessings of his life.

It was during his travels to the north with one of Babaâs long time disciple ... Aloba, in Hamirpur District, that he wrote the song âCan You Hear Meâ ... that was later to become the climatic song of âJerusalem A Symphonic Sagaâ.

And it was âCan You Hear Meâ that he sang in Mandali Hall, upon returning to Meherazad from the north ... that Babaâs sister, Mani, after hearing it expressed... âthat was a real prayer... â


Throughout his pilgrimage through Europe, the Middle East, and in India ... Babaâs inner and outer presence was more real than the air itself... âlike an invisible fire of love, whose embrace and gaze, was always, unspokenly ... in and around you.â

Once, while fathoming Babaâs presence upon the hill by His Tomb ... (after years of efforts in meditation and pray), it became piercingly clear to him, that any words, or names, or thoughts ... become barriors and veils of seperation, from that which we truly adore and love... and as necessary as they are, to steer us, on our way up the âMountainâ ... they must be surrendered and forgotten ... to further approach the rarified airs leading towards the top of the âMountainâ...

At one point in his efforts that morning, he was granted some semblance ... of a momentary cessation of those burdens and barriors ... and was allowed to be with His Beloved Meher Baba ... in a way that he was never able to âBeâ before ... or seldom since ...

Baba often reminded lovers and seekers, that it was by âlosingâ âoneâs selfâ ... that one could truly find âOneâs Self ... and God ... and themselves .... as God... and that, was the true essence and dynamic of Love.

Later that week, upon privately asking Eruch about his episode on the Hill ... Eruch nodded knowingly ... and confirmed ... that it was a treasured glimpse of the âPresenceâ ... we yearn for all the time ... from the Beloved and Divine.

On the sojournerâs last day in Meherazad, after a gathering for tea and singing a farewell song on âMeheraâs Porchâ ... he for the last time entered Mandali Hall, where Eruch greeted him and gave him an ebrace in the doorway ...before âreturning to the worldâ and bid him farewell, saying ... âSing His Gloryâ .......

He the next day, flew out of India, and upon returning to the states in late December of 79, he soon moved to New York City. About a year later, still brimming from and assimilating his pilgrimmage to Europe, the Middle East, and India ... he wrote a song called âJerusalemâ ... in which the âCityâ of Jerusalem ... and the visionaryâArchetypeâ of Jerusalem ... were personified as a âwomanâ ... a mother, sister, daughter, and lover ... tested and torn, over thousands of years, by all those who wished to possess ... that which cannot be possessed ... but can only be earthenly hosted... and heavenly treasured...

It was not long after that, that Baba seemed to present to him the idea of writing a complete musical / rock opera, based on the concept of that song ... with the simple, but powerful allegorical metaphor ... that this woman âJerusalemâ was being courted and persued by three suitors... representing the three main religions of the Mid East and wesatern world ... Judaism, Christianity, and Islam ....

Having previously written two rock operas ... âChristangelisâ i972 - 74, and âThe Thousand Stars of Mavuâ, !977 -79 ... it became quickly clear, that this allegory, would allow him to write symbolically ... and extensively .... a sort of âMystical Psychoanalysisâ about the complex historical, religious, cultural, racial, psychological and gender paradigms of the characters, and how they reflect on the macrocosmic city and vision of âJerusalemâ and the uderlying presence that it occupies in the psyche of the western mind.

Eposodically, over the next 20 years ... between raising a family, designing and building a stone house, becoming a registered nurse and Art Therapsit, writing songs and poetry, occassionally painting .... and most importantly ... trying to become a more worthy âfireâ at the
âLionsâ (Baba) feet .... he wrote the first 4 parts (52 songs) of âJerusalem A Symphonic Sagaâ and drafted the basic music and conceptions of what will hopefull manifest as the last 3 parts ... which are to be more cryptic and riddle-esque in lyrical nature ... and more orchestral and choral, in musical nature, as thet attempt to symbollically express the main characterâs journeyâs through the inner garden and heavenâs ... back to the Feet of the Eternal Divine ......