Those of us who followed rock music in the Sixties know about Jack Bruce.  The driving force behind the songs of the short-lived British band Cream, Jack Bruce, sadly, passed away late last month, a victim of liver disease.  He left a wife, children, and one grandchild. He also left an incredible musical legacy.  The music he played with Cream will forever endure in the annals of rock and roll.
     Music seems almost eternal.  Its ability to touch us seems inexhaustible.  When a song writer dies, his music lives on, sometimes indefinitely.  For we human beings who often writhe in the grip of  mortality, we find tremendous solace and affirmation in this.  We love the music we invite into our lives, we love that it touches something in us, something that arouses and challenges us as nothing else can.  We love that it lasts beyond our perceptions of earthly permanence.
     Perhaps we also love that music underscores that life is more than the moment, more than the year.  It is unfathomable.  We will probably never know what precisely was going through Jack Bruce's mind as he composed his music, but we can certainly gasp at what he made it into:  imaginings bigger than anything we can imagine.  Like life.  We're here, we live, we die.  And we imagine.  We imagine what is and what can be.  We imagine imagination itself.
     And if our hearts are open to what is possible, we might imagine a reality bigger than all imagination, larger than music, larger than art, a reality fuller than all the transcendence music and art bequeath us, a reality which sounds in every corner of the universe.  The song of the creator.
     Thanks, Jack Bruce.  We will miss you.