Returning to the Surface

The magic I'm finding, and the surprising nature of its darkness

“Something in us knows we are not just here to toil at our work. There is a mysterious pull to remember … A thousand gates open to the spirit. Whether in the brilliance of beauty of the dark woods of confusion and sorrow, a force as sure as gravity brings us back to our heart. It happens to every one of us.”
— Jack Kornfield, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry

I played my first live show in months last week. As I stepped out into the street with my little Martin guitar strapped on my back, and my eyelids glittering, I felt a great sense of fear. I went into the dark, dingy bar, with it’s wooden platform prepared for each of us artists to step up to the mic and bleed, publicly. I sat in silence around the other bands, and I felt the familiar sense of anxiety bubbling inside of me. I texted my father, “call me,” to which he did exactly two minutes later. I got up and stepped back out into the street. “What do you need?” He prodded. “Just an excuse to get out of there for a moment,” I confessed. “I don’t know how to talk to other musicians. I don’t know how to belong. It’s just me out here— I have no band members, no representation. I fully represent Kimi Carter; The person, artist, and brand.” My mother took the phone from him: “Just make new friends.” I took a deep breath, walked back through the doors, and allowed myself to be vulnerable— To pull off those hard scales off my heart, and let someone new in.

When someone asked why I haven’t played a show since November, I responded simply, “The winter months are my time to wrestle, process, then create. As the air warms again, I return to the surface with what I’ve found.” I had a plan of how this year was going to look for me, musically. I had the next single picked out, an idea of what I wanted to say, and a plan for how I would release it. Of course none of the plans I ever make manifest the way I intend. I unexpectedly lost my job in January, leaving my energy focused on finding a way to pay my bills, eating through my savings, and living in that familiar dark cave of existentialism. I looked around me and was disappointed in what I found— Me, nearly a quarter into life, still trying to find meaning in this simple life I once thought would be extraordinary by now.

I searched my spirit for something I could sink my teeth into. I dipped into the scriptures, the Gospel, and found the desire to belong to a community that understands the man from Nazareth in the way I did. I quickly found out that the modern church might not have me, knowing how differently I view the world. I knew I’d be faced with questions about my faith I would never have answers for. I knew I might be looked at with criticism and confusion. I didn’t want to have to answer to anyone about my beliefs apart from the Beloved. Naturally, I wanted to reject anything that looked like organized religion. Then I was thinking about the state of our world and how vastly divided we’ve become— how we’re all unwilling to take the first step into the mystery.

I thought about love and tolerance, the essence of what the Gospel is. I thought of every type of living human, and how our differences make up the greater picture of all the multitudes that live within the universe. I would awake in the middle of the night with words flying out of my head and into my notes app, “Blessed is the prostitute,” “Blessed is the pastor’s son,” “Blessed is the Democrat,” “Blessed is the Republican.” I found the melody that carried these characters into being, then sat for an entire day, recording and producing the rest of the song. I’m currently sitting on these words, singing them to my friends with tears in their eyes, and performing it on the dingy wooden stage in front of absolute strangers. It’s a deep chasm of vulnerability I haven’t shared publicly before.

I chatted yesterday with my wonderful creative director, Valheria Rocha, about what the next few months are going to look like, now that the earth is warm again and it’s time for me to return to the surface. We talked about the beauty of the darkness, and what the “magic” looks like when its dark. There’s a bright beautiful magic inside of me that presents itself in butterflies and rainbows, and there’s a darker, benevolent magic inside of me that presents itself differently. Our task is to explore it together, then show you what we’ve found.

It’s been a slow season from the outside looking in. I’ve burdened myself with the opinions of others (good and bad) and have asked myself what it looks like to be still and let the magic find me. I can tell you confidently that it’s finding me, and I will share it with you very soon. Your patience has been a pillar for me to explore the nooks and crannies of my heart, so that I may return to you a more honest version of myself.

Authentic art comes with a cost. I’m settling up my debt. I’ll be back soon.

xx Kimi