Finding Truth in the Terrifying Darkness

Play me!

Ah, Bartok...perfect middle of the night music.  If you want to be too afraid to walk down the dark hallway back to bed, that is.  Nighttime visions of sugar plums and fairies transform into ghoulish figures imposed upon scenes from Alfred Hitchcock movies.  Or Teletubbies...more on that later.  But this music is apropos to the subject matter below - you'll see.  You're listening to the first movement of Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta.

I've always been a bit of a night owl. When I was young, I hated going to bed early because I thought I would miss something important. This carried through into my adulthood and until the invention of the DVR - praise Jesus - I would always find things to do around the house or some work that needs to be done just to have an excuse to stay up past 10 pm.

Staying up later usually means you are more tired when you finally go to bed, and that you are more likely to sleep through the night. Yeah. Go ahead and laugh, all my insomniac friends, because we all know that's the biggest lie around. Truth is, if you normally wake up about 3 hours after you fall asleep, it really doesn't matter if you go to bed sort of tired at 9:00 or REALLY tired at midnight. 3 hours later, the lights in your head come on. The only exception to this - for me, anyway - is exercise. I am usually guaranteed some sort of coma-like slumber if I have done my due diligence at the gym or working with the weights in the basement during the day. You'd think this guarantee would keep me disciplined...but alas, here I am at 2:51 am sitting at the table in the living room, waiting for my tea to steep in a mug I bought at the mid level of the Eiffel Tower because I was too chicken to go to the top by myself.  Hey - it was really windy.

There is, of course, an evil side to this. For me, waking up in the middle of the night is like being inside my own personal horror story. The random and irrational thoughts that go through my mind are quite possibly the most torturous moments of my life. I read somewhere that when you are sleeping, or semi-asleep, the part of your brain that controls rational thought gets turned off, or slows down, or something. I cling to this Internet Truth with all my might, lest I believe the disjointed impressions of my dreams and their residual thoughts. It must be truth because most mornings I wake up and say to myself, "What was your problem Nicole? Get a grip, girl." And I wonder if that's a microcosm (thank you, Bela Bartok, for making that an everyday word for musicians who actually bothered to study during that section of music history) for life. Problems seem to diminish in scale the farther we get away from them, and years after some trial we wonder - the new, stronger, more experienced self wonders - why we couldn't see the forest for the trees before we went stumbling into it. Everything always seems worse in the middle of terrifying darkness.

Tonight after lying in bed staring at the ceiling for about 2 hours, I turned to my Kindle for relief.  I read yesterday's newspaper - scintillating.  Then I turned to a book I downloaded after reading a post in a dear friend's blog - you can check that out here, if you'd like.  The post is about the trials of faith and uses examples from L.B. Cowman's Streams in the Desert - I recommend it highly.  This daily devotional was written by a woman who worked as a missionary in Japan and China in the early 1900's.  Her husband's health issues forced them back to the States where she cared for him until his death six years later. She wrote Streams in the Desert out of her incredible life experiences.  Tonight I read the entry for August 29 and then decided to leaf back through and catch some that I had missed.  It was a treasure trove of comfort and inspiration for thought, speedily guiding me away from the vicious cycle going through my head.  What captured me most was the following quote from the August 24 entry:

"Who has not known men and women who, when they arrive at seasons of gloom and solitude, put on strength and hopefulness like a robe?  You may imprison such folk where you please; but you shut up their treasure with them."  

Whoa.  This is a whole new world of possibility.  When life really sucks we tend to think that we are completely alone in whatever we are our suffering - that we have been stripped of everyone and everything that makes us who we are.  But in fact, the opposite is true - we are stripped of everything BUT who we are, and the people who love us enough to stick around even when we are being a jerk.  Just this past week I look around at all the "projects" I've undertaken in the past 5 months - patched plaster, painted walls, homemade curtains - and I shuddered at the thought that I had been gilding my own cell, my own barrier created to shut out a world of disappointment and seemingly predictable mediocrity. I was creating a haven from a somewhat self-imposed hell. But perhaps I was merely taking my "treasures" - my creative gifts, such as they are, at least, for plaster repair - and using them to dig a tunnel out of my own depression.  Is this all an unconscious effort to keep my creative juices flowing, to keep my mind dreaming of the potential around me, even if it was as practical as walls without holes?  Something to ponder...

But for now, it's 4:11 am, my tea is cold, and I can now smell yesterday's lunch wafting from the pots in the sink.  There's only one thing to ponder about that - back to bed.  

But first, back to the Teletubbies, because I'm sure most of you stopped that Bartok recording some time ago.  Hey - he's not for everybody.  The video below went around the internet a while back.  Check it out - it's only 1:42. After resisting the urge to correct his horrible grammar and spelling, I included below the quote from the creator of the video about a similar one he made: 

"The concept for this video was simple. The two creepiest things in the world are Arnold Schoenberg's Pierrot Lunair and Telletubbies. I simply combined them. The result is something more horrifying than you're wildest nightmares. Sleep well!!"

Rolling on over ekklesia...

Play Me!

You know, I've been ruminating for months now about writing more about the Church, liturgy, faith, etc. I've had scads and scads of ideas and thoughts swimming through my head, just waiting for the right impetus, the right bit of inspiration to bring it all into focus. I thought I found it in this article about the changes in the Title IV canons of the Episcopal Church last week. Today I thought I found it in this article article about a man who recently found his home in the Episcopal Church.  I've started a number of compositions in a number of different formats, and I've finally asked myself:

Why the hell am I bothering?

I love to write, and I find most times it's the best way for me to organize my thoughts into any cohesive format so others can understand.  Occasionally I seem to find topics others are interested in, but I think most of the time there are only a few souls who relate.  I'm cool with that.  But let's face it - if you are not in "the majority" or a part of the prevailing mindset in the Church you will be disregarded, ignored, or even professionally and socially persecuted for your views if you make a little too much "noise".  Doesn't even matter what your views are.  And I'm not picking on the Episcopalians, per se.  In many ways, most of the denominations function like the same, egotistical monolith - they've just painted the doors of their church a different color.  

But my question to myself is this - why do I continue to advocate for an institution that has caused me and the ones I love so much harm in the name of order and discipline without any attempt or thought to reconciliation afterwards?  Why do I continue to yearn for a community who leaves lost sheep behind in times of distress?  Why in the world would I tell someone else to take a chance on an institution that time and time again proves that their self-centered priorities will ALWAYS trump the needs of those who aren't interested in playing the game because they truly believe that THIS IS NOT A GAME?  

I used to think part of my vocation was to be a voice for the potential of the Church, despite whatever current manifestation it has taken here on earth.  I still believe there is incredible potential of ekklesia.  My faith is strong and I'm certainly not afraid to fight for what I believe in.  But the more I see the Church allowing itself to be ripped apart over issues like open communion, gender equality, sexuality, biblical legalism, baptism of infants vs. adults, gay marriage, ordination of women, virgin birth, the deity of Christ...pick your favorite reason for schism....I wonder if human beings really have the stomach for it.  And I'm not belittling the issues, just questioning the seemingly unavoidable schism that follows.  Is it impossible for you to love me - or even like me - if I do not stand for everything you stand for?  And after all, what do those things really matter if I as a member of a parish or congregation can disappear from your pews for weeks and no one calls to see if I'm dead or alive?  Or do we just "let the church roll on" like the old spiritual says?

Living in agreement is easy.  Keeping community in disagreement and strife is what real life is all about.  That is the challenge we are called to face every day.  Is there anyone left willing to take the risks and make the sacrifices to make it work?  Or are we going to go get our praise on where we feel the most comfortable, continue to keep shouting the party line, and "roll on" over those in our way?

New Year, New Beginnings

I love fall. There's just something different about the smell of the air, the light of the sun, and the sound of the breeze.  The dense aroma of summer humidity gives way to the light coolness of that first hint of the approach of winter. The glorious, yellow rays of hot sun somehow turn more golden - less harsh and more velvet. The wind wafting through the trees reveals the crisp sound of leaves giving up their final bit of green to give way to brilliant red, orange and yellow. I can wax poetic all day about fall, baby.

As a child, fall always meant a new school year, new classes, new clothes, new books - New You. A chance to reinvent yourself, a chance to refocus and refashion your dreams of who you want to be. Our stomachs are full of butterflies and our hearts are full of hopes as we take those first steps to the bus stop or the first steps on that long walk to school.  Our dreams are perfect and our happiness is untouchable.  The world is ours.  

But the rules of Playground Politics do not conform to such thoughts - in that reality, you are who your classmates ALLOW you to be. We've all experienced that truth in one way or another when we were just young chicks, I imagine. Breaking the mold of "geek" or "jock" or "nobody" is virtually impossible. You must conform to stay popular or risk the ridicule of being, well, you.  Or so it seems when you are a child or young adult with no control over your circumstances.

We like to think that as adults that idea of the New You applies at the start of a new project, a new job, etc.  But as the old Gershwin tune says, "it ain't necessarily so". You are who your coworkers/boss/family EXPECT you to be - are we not?  We are expected to be strong and endure, so we endeavor to do so.  We are expected to be smart and responsible, so we try our best to comply.  We are expected to be loving and compassionate, so we slap on a smile and do our thing.  And there are many times in our lives when we genuinely feel strong, smart, responsible, loving, compassionate, or whatever adjective best describes how people see us.  It is a natural part of who we are, and we gladly live in to it.  But there are also times when it's just too hard to be those things, but we feel we must try anyway for fear of losing ourselves, losing our lives to the schoolyard bullies who just won't leave us alone.  

But maybe that holding on to who we were - who we were expected to be - is holding us back from being the New You.  Maybe it's time to "be the tree", as we used joke about the goofy meditative practices of the 80's - time to let the old leaves fall, as beautiful as they were, and brace ourselves for the onslought of winter cold so that we can emerge ready to sprout new growth in the spring.  For there is always a spring in our future unless we choose to die in the winter frost.  Yes, it is a choice.  And when we don't have the strength to choose, we get help from the people who love us.  Or the people we pay to help us - whatever works best for you.

It's time to shop for a new book bag - it's not too late.  Let's look for some new folders in our favorite colors and throw away the same torn few that have been knocked around our locker for years.  Let's find our courage and walk past the pack of bullies blocking our way - because in the end, they really don't have a plan to deal with the person who simply ignores them or takes them on.  And if they come after us, we know our bff's will be standing by with a baseball bat, or something.  Well, maybe that's just my dream...but we can hold our heads high and walk to the bus stop full of butterflies.  And even if they've been temporarily trapped in someone's net, we can still fill our hearts with hope.  

"Stop the world, I want to get off..."

Stop the world 

I want to get off

This is too weird for me

Stop the world

I want to get off

I get the definite impression

That this isn't how it's meant to be

     No, no...

Too much undesignated time on your hands can be a very bad thing, especially if your mind is like mine and is constantly in motion. I've been thinking a lot about deep, philosophical things lately, like the meaning of life and our seemingly small, insignificant impact on the grand scheme of things. I know, I know - you're all saying, "Get a job, Nicole!" Surely, there are better ways to spend my time. And clearly, I need another martini.

But the more I look at the world - actually, let's take it a bit smaller - the more I look at the things that touch MY world, I wonder whether I really belong where I am. It seems everyday I look around and wonder to myself, "Who are all these Pod People, and when did they land on planet Earth?" It's harder to define myself as being part of a group or community, or simpatico with any wave of thought. Why do we need all these labels, anyway? For example:

I don't want to be called conservative, and I am most certainly not liberal. But if you live in the middle you may as well not exist because no one is listening to you.

I'd prefer not to be called African-American, but that will be ignored and people will call me what they want to call me no matter what I say. If you want to refer to the color of my skin calling me "black" seems a bit ridiculous, even after some rather aggressive summer tanning. I think "latte", or "light caramel" would be more appropriate. But why is any of that needed? Why can't you just call me Nicole?

There was a time when relished the thought of being called Episcopalian - those days are SO over. The combination of hypocrisy and apathy that completely overshadow the people who are actually doing good work in that church is more than a little bit dangerous, and I just can't jump onto this new, progressive, soft and fuzzy, more "spiritual" theology that they seem to be boring us to death with on Sunday mornings but yet sells like hotcakes off the virtual bookshelves of their most popular theologians and scholars. But perhaps living in this fishbowl called Ohio is more to blame for that than anything else. I still have a deep affinity for the Lutherans, but I don't like the direction their liturgy is taking and there are few Lutheran churches (at least in this area) who worship really well. And by that I mean the music, preaching, AND execution of the liturgy run like a well oiled machine, no matter what their "style". It just ain't happening, with few exceptions. Perhaps another fishbowl issue.

Organists are kind of like the second cousin, twice removed of the family of professional musicians. For some reason we seem to exist on a completely different plane of existence than our musical comrades, I think mostly because our professional lives have evolved so much around the Church, which in many cases seems to have no use for professional musicians or artists in general. They just get paid too much, you know. And if you're not really interested in church work, well, the organ world doesn't quite know what to do with you. Living for the sake of one's art isn't as common in this corner of the artistic sphere as one would think, besides the fact that you'd starve to death in a matter of weeks.

So, what's left? I still want to dream big dreams and be willing to risk it all for the sake of something extraordinary. There are few people out there on that road, and it gets incredibly lonely. I'd still like to believe that anything is possible if you are willing to do what it takes to make it happen. But it seems to many people are more concerned with being reasonable and practical. Ok, I get that - everyone has their own way of living. And sometimes life just beats all the life and energy out of you, and you just don't feel like you have anything left to risk. But I have never believed that a person's spirit can ever really run dry. Sometimes it needs a little assistance - friends, family, faith, therapy, gin, whatever - but there is always more. Sometimes we just get convinced - by ourselves or others - that it's simply not worth the effort. Or even worse, that we ourselves are simply not worth the effort. But that is NEVER true.

I do not want to live in this very "black and white" world that is emerging around us. I also have no love for some fuzzy, undefined, unfocused alternative. So I ask again - what's left? And why do I have to fit in your little boxes, anyway? It reminds me of the song from the opening credits of "Weeds". (For those who have never watched it - it's a racy but well written series about a young widow with 2 children living in an affluent neighborhood in California who starts selling weed to keep up her family's standard of living. Great show, but don't watch it with the kids). There's a fantastic claymation video featuring the song below.

When did we abandon the goal of living extraordinary lives in favor of "little boxes made of ticky tacky"? I don't want to be defined by the ridiculous labels and definitions given by modern society - do you? Let's bust out of this joint, as we used to say in the 80's. Let's create something new and different and live like we are on fire while we're doing it - you know, burning with passion, and all. Cause my little clay house just isn't big enough...

Little boxes on the hillside 

Little boxes made of ticky tacky 

Little boxes on the hillside 

Little boxes all the same

There's a pink one and a green one 

And a blue one and a yellow one 

And they're all made out of ticky tacky 

And they all look just the same 

And the people in the houses 

All went to the university 

Where they were put in boxes 

And they came out all the same 

And there's doctors and lawyers 

And business executives 

And they're all made out of ticky tacky 

And they all look just the same 

And they all play on the golf course 

And drink their martinis dry 

And they all have pretty children 

And the children go to school 

And the children go to summer camp 

And then to the university 

Where they are put in boxes 

And they come out all the same 

And the boys go into business 

And marry and raise a family 

In boxes made of ticky tacky 

And they all look just the same 

There's a pink one and a green one 

And a blue one and a yellow one 

And they're all made out of ticky tacky 

And they all look just the same.

Love? Yup. Honor? Definitely. Obey? Um...no.

Remember those words? It used to be the norm at American marriage ceremonies for the bride to vow to love, honor, and obey her impending spouse. You still see it in an occasional movie or two. Perhaps you used it in your wedding because you wanted to use the exact same service your parents did. Or, perhaps you are part of the growing movement (so it seems) in the country to return to more a "traditional" understanding of marriage. Hey, whatever floats your boat. If you ask The Hubby if I "obey" him, I'm sure you'll be treated to boisterous gales of uncontrollable laughter. We ask each other to do things, and even every once in a while imply that if a certain thing gets done, someone will be loved all the more (ha!). But I don't do the "honey do" list thing, cause he's not my employee or my slave, and he doesn't expect me to do any more for him than he does for me. And we certainly don't order each other around. I don't own him and he's not the boss of me.  So there.

But in real life, who do we really obey? We obey the laws of the country and state, as they are made to protect the citizens and keep order. (Insert snarky remark about legislation and legislators here). This seems reasonable. We obey the "laws" or regulations of our workplace because they ensure the smooth operation of the business or company. (Surely there's another snarky remark for that). Again, reasonable. But do you obey your boss? Probably, because it's understood as part of the hierarchy of the system. But does your contract or letter of agreement require you to obey? It probably says something like "is under the direction of", or "reports directly to". No company would DARE put the word obey in a legal document.  The general thought is that those who are more qualified/educated/experienced are the leaders, and those who are aspiring to be so follow, learn and contribute to the whole.  You know, for the betterment of everyone.

Let's move out of the public sector into the magical, mystical world of The Church. Few of the mainline denominations include the word "obey" in their wedding vows anymore, as we have "moved beyond" such antiquated ideas and language. (I KNOW someone has something to say about that). Many of these mainline denominations - especially the Lutherans, Episcopalians, and the United Church of Christ - seem to bend over backwards to "refine" their language to be more modern, more inclusive, more relevant. Everyone's included. Everyone's equal. Everyone's thoughts and opinions are of equal worth.  It's an equal opportunity community.

Well, unless you are clergy. Did you know that many clergy must take a vow of obedience at their ordination?  In many cases it's a vow to obey their bishop or elder or dean or whatever the direct supervisor is being called these days. I find this puzzling at best. Over the years it seems as if the church was moving away from a legalistic, hierarchical understanding of the faith. We follow Jesus' example and teachings.  We follow the Ten Commandments.  We promise to love and serve one another in love.  We are in a relationship with Christ.  Why then must clergy obey?  This seems less like a promise to be in community with one another - a promise to trust and respect the dignity of every human being - and more like an antiquated form of control.  If the catechism of said churches does not even require us to "obey" God and his commandments, why do the clergy have to obey a mere mortal who is capable (and does) make as many mistakes as everyone else?  Is the relationship of bishop/dean/superintendent to their clergy supposed to model our relationship with our pastor?  If I join a church, do I have to obey my pastor?  If clergy are "called" to the ministry, held to a higher standard, and trained and encouraged to model the behavior of Christ, then why require them to obey?

And what if you don't obey?  I'm not talking about breaking laws, but you know, differences of opinion.  Suppose you are chatting it up with The Bish about some cool new idea you have for your parish.  Let's say The Bish doesn't think the idea is all that cool, and says in no-so-many-words that he doesn't think you should do it.  But hey - you know your flock and what they are capable of.  He "suggests" you don't do it, but you do it anyway and it's fairly successful - not a home run, but a boon for the parish.  What happens?  I would imagine any good leader would consider it a win-win for the kingdom, even if they didn't like the idea, and would perhaps congratulate you on the success of the ministry and suggest ideas to help you improve it, or suggest you share the idea with other parishes.  But we all know that's not the way it always happens.  There are those in authority do not like to be challenged - especially in public - and The Church has its fair share of such individuals.  Often the "transgressor" is punished or "disciplined" in some fashion for their "disobedience".  How is this an example of living in a healthy community?  Is blanket obedience in the end more important than finding creative ways to help the community grow?

I would love some clergy interaction on this.  I have many clergy friends - many who don't take kindly to being told they have to "obey".  Why do you take this vow?  Do you really find it necessary to obey another human being to fulfill your ministry, or do you just do it because you have to?  Don't get me wrong - I love rules (when they're fair and reasonable).  They allow me to be creative and inventive, especially in finding ways to bend them when necessary.  And as one of four kids and a PK, we were experts at figuring out the rules so we could find a way around them.  You know, for fun.  But I'm curious to hear some "official" take on the matter.

Anyone up for the discussion?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Beuller?

"Don't look back!" - learning to ride without training wheels...

The Vause Family, minus 1
(My oldest brother Milton was a PRO at getting out of these things...)
circa ???? 

Remember the first time you learned how to ride your bike without the training wheels? That memory just flashed in my head today. We lived closed to the bottom of a street that was a pretty decent sized hill, so as an older kid riding down it was a lot of fun. But it was also a dead end with flowing traffic at the "T" at the bottom of the hill. This, of course, let to a lot of exciting afternoons when the chain suddenly came of the those old bikes with "back pedal" brakes. 

I have a vivid memory of my dad teaching me how to ride without the training wheels. I remember the bike - it was pink and white with an enormous, cushy, pink seat. Streamers burst forth from the end of the handle bars, whipping in the wind like loose hair when you rode fast. Those same streamers eventually got pulled out of course, and the open end of those handle bars became perfect little homes for spiders, which eventually led to my jumping of the bike mid-ride upon discovery, sending it crashing to the ground to be scarred by the asphalt. You know my love for spiders. The pedals were not smooth, but had those jagged-ragged edges that gripped into the soles of your shoes and ripped the skin off the back of your leg when you're weren't paying attention. I don't think any toy we played with when we were younger would be deemed "safe" enough for the soft-skinned children of today...

But we digress. Riding your bike was always such a freeing activity. When we were small, we were only allowed to ride laps around the driveway. It seemed so big at the time, but now that I think about it you could barely fit two cars in it, and at the end of the driveway was a short but steep hill into the back yard. I remember an unintentional kamikaze run with an Evil Knievel 3-wheeler down that hill that ended in poison ivy and tragedy. But that story is for another day. Back to these training wheels - I would ride my laps around the driveway with my sister (4 years younger), and finally realized one day that I was not really using the training wheels anymore. In fact, I had stopped using the right one weeks before when it broke off, and was getting pretty adept at leaning to one side and sort-a-kind-a riding on the left one. But it was time. My dad took out a screwdriver from the ugly, smelly, yellow tool box in the trunk of his car and set the remaining training wheel free. I now remind you that we lived on a BIG HILL, and no one can learn to ride well-balanced while struggling to climb a hill. Guess who was going to be pushed down the hill? Of course, I had not figured this out yet but the moment was near.

I got on the bike, all excited and a-quiver. I remember my dad kept yelling, "Don't look back - look straight ahead!" Why? This didn't compute at first, but we all KNOW what was coming. We started off slowly down the remainder of the hill, and I could feel my dad's hands on the back of my bike. Yeah baby, we're flying now! I felt the wind in my face, and my heart raced. I was doing it! But even though I could feel the pressure of his hands on the bike, I still had to keep looking back to make sure he was still there.

"Don't look back!"

And then the pressure was gone. Oh my God - is he insane??? I can't ride this bike by myself!  But I could. It was all me. I actually remember making a choice in my mind at the time - I could freak out knowing I wasn't being helped, look back and fall and scrape myself to bits, and then not accept responsibility for the fall because I hadn't a clue what I was doing but instead blame the fall on my father for not holding on. That is always choice number one for a kid. Or I could concentrate, pedal faster (because faster is always better on a bike) and keep riding down the hill. Usually when it boils down to a choice between pain or no pain - whether you're a kid or adult - we choice the no pain route. And that's what I did. At least, I think I did, because I really have no recollection of the rest of the ride. Maybe I crashed into a parked car and knocked myself out - who knows? But I do know that I learned to ride my bike that day, and I declared that It Was Good.

Life can be quite a bit like that. We are more than willing to try new things when we know that The Parent is going to hold on to the back of The Bike while we ride. I'll volunteer for that new project at work because I know my Mentor on the Job will be there to help me in the end, and if necessary, keep me from making an ass of myself. I'll work for that Parent Company with all the infrastructure and money to keep my little pet project afloat, because I know if I get into trouble, I can ask for additional employees, barter for more money at budget time, or simply supply the necessary reports to prove to Parent Boss that The Cool New Bike Idea was good, but failed because the market said it was going to fail.

But if you really want to fly in life, if you really want to race down that hill, streamers flying, you have to be willing to do it without those hands on the back of that enormous, cushy, pink seat. And sometimes there's not even anyone there to tell you "Don't look back!" You have to take the chance that the chain is going to pop right off that bike frame and hope that you've got enough rubber on the bottom of your shoes to do a Barney Rubble stop before you either ride into traffic or careen down that steep embankment into the Doyle & McDonnell Inc building at the end of the street. Neither ending would be positive, mind you, but don't you remember as a kid thinking to yourself, "There's no way I'm going to crash, and even if I do it's going to be wicked sweet"? When did we become such wusses and start going down hills riding the brakes???

I'll tell you when - when scrapes and bruises became permanent scars with permanent memories burned into our brains. Sometimes the memory of the pain is so much more worse than the event itself, and we let that memory take over and change the person we know ourselves to be. Evil Knievel becomes The Boy in the Plastic Bubble, and the only time we take a chance down a hill is when we're playing with our Wii.

Bruises and scars tell stories - we all have them. Some of the stories are good, some are bad, but they always tell stories of a life that was lived. The good thing is that all scars heal, if we tend to them properly. IF WE TEND TO THEM PROPERLY. This means different things for different people, of course, and sometimes the hard part is figuring out what the proper treatment is. I've got a few big ones myself, and it's time to stop pulling the scabs off (yes, I was one of THOSE kids). It's time to heal. I miss that girl who rode like a crazy person down hills. I'm gonna go find her.

Because tomorrow, I'm buying streamers.

Meeting each other in the middle, featuring everyone's favorite Bach piece (well, not mine...)

Play me!

I love playing chamber music, and collaborative performances in general. I think it's because of performers like the one above, Anner Bylsma - what a dream it would be to play with such a talented musician. I think chamber music is the ultimate form of communication between human beings. Words need not be spoken; I can hear and understand intent based on the speed of the bow, the intensity of sound, or the ever-so-subtle gesture before the music begins. Reading these cues is incredibly important, and can make or break a performance. Sometimes this collaboration is an affirming experience. A few months ago I played a duo recital with a friend from graduate school. We've played several recitals together, which always requires an enormous amount of time at the instrument. At some point during our work we always say, "It's so nice to play with someone who has the same training." Why do we say this? Because a lot of our instincts are similar, as is the way in which we approach problem solving. In "music-speak" this means it's easier to match articulations. We approach different styles with a similar knowledge and understanding. When we disagree (and we do), it's easier to understand the other person's point of view. Most of the time.

Sometimes the experience is challenging, especially when playing with musicians with a completely different outlook on playing and interpretation. Believe it or not, this would perfectly explain my husband and me. We met in music school when I was a piano major and he was a cellist. I began playing with his piano trio in my sophomore year, and inevitably, I became his accompanist. Funny, how that words. The interesting this is that even though we clearly got along well as people we COMPLETELY disagreed on many musical ideas. We fought over Brahms, Prokovief and Beethoven with fervor, baby. While sometimes annoying, this challenged my perceptions of compositions, forced me to explain my viewpoint and to stand firm on my decisions. Character building, really. In the end, we had to meet in the middle and make the best decision for what the music demanded. Sometimes we chose one person's way or the other, and sometimes we came up with something completely different. It's what made the process both fun and meaningful.

That's just one of the many examples of how music is an illustration of life. There are an infinite number of view points on any given subject. The process of discussing them with others can be affirming or challenging, or a little of both. Or neither, I suppose. Today I was chatting via email with a friend about the unfortunate propensity for communities (we were speaking in particular about church, but it applies to others) to be either left leaning or right leaning; liberal or conservative; traditional or modern. We are always forcing people to choose. Why do we do this? I'm sure we've all seen the studies saying that people are naturally attracted to those who are more like themselves, although there are people who purposeful choose to surround themselves with people who are nothing like them. Which one of these people are you? Perhaps you have one foot in both category, or you dance back and forth in between.

This idea plays a huge part in society today in politics, religion, and just about everything else we do. Are we afraid to be alone in our thoughts, or do we simply have in intense need for homogeneous community? Do we enjoy making fun of or persecuting people who aren't like us, thereby making ourselves feel better about who we are, or are we simply afraid that we will be laughed at? Or do we just not care?

I have a rather diverse group of close friends and family - Christian, libertarian, responsible, gay, those who believe in God but can't stand religion, liberal, straight, Jewish, independent, irresponsible, intelligent, conservative, no common sense whatsoever...those are a lot of adjectives, but I actually I have few very close friends and an average size family. They are all just a mix of those things. I purposefully left out ethnicity or color because I could care less. A friend is a friend and a jerk is a jerk, no matter what color they are. Do I love the company and conversation of like minded individuals? You betcha. But as a musician, I MUST surround myself with different ideas or the music suffers. If I listen to the same recording over and over again, when I try to play that particular piece all I will hear in my mind is that one rendition, and it will be almost impossible for me to form my own interpretation.

The same goes with other aspects of life. If I only surround myself with people just like me, I will deny myself growth in ways I cannot possibly imagine. How can I form my own opinion if I only listen to the same idiots over and over again? And let's face, it, everybody's an idiot for at least a short period of time. And yet we can only take so much of someone we disagree with who refuses to acknowledge any way of thinking except their own. The real key in this, I think, is learning how to listen to other people. I don't have to agree with you. I don't even have to like what you're saying. But we could at least afford each other the dignity and respect of being treated like someone who has some value. In the grand scheme of things, that's really not too much to ask. Sometimes we believe in something so fiercely that any compromise of our position feels like a compromise of our ideals and sometimes even a compromise of who we truly are. Does this mean that I cannot stand firmly beside someone else who feels the exact opposite and respect them? Something to ponder and strive for. While thinking on these things through the day, I ran across a blog post by Rachel Evans - a great writer - about exactly the same idea called Liberal Christianity, Conservative Christianity, and the Caught-In-Between. If you'd like, you can read it here.

The divisions in today's society are, frankly, nauseating. For me, music seems to be the only place I feel I can be myself and communicate with freedom and abandon. Too bad I play an instrument most of the modern world has no interest in hearing. But that's ok, too -there's still some hope for that. In the end, it's not the instrument that's most important, but the music. If we could all get over ourselves enough to let the message come before the messenger, perhaps we'd live in a much better world.

Up bow, down bow, hook then ricochet...whatever floats your boat. Just say something worth hearing, then put your bow down and listen to me, too.

Now, play the same piece as above, played by the same performer in a later recording, but in a totally different interpretation: