I drove home tonight around 9:00pm, after having a lovely dinner with a former student, and got to have an increasingly close-up view of a most fearsome thunder and lightning storm. It was fierce. I recently bought this book for myself - cough - I mean, my kids -
so, naturally, I was imagining Zeus flinging down his lightning bolts and terrorizing some poor human who had inadvertently gotten on his bad side. I am simultaneously fascinated/attracted by thunderstorms and afraid of them... And, driving right into the middle of one was quite an interesting experience. Awe-inspiring, for sure.
It was rather fitting as the last few days have been emotionally cloudy for me, culminating in my deep sadness at hearing about the tragedy in Charleston, which is one of many such tragedies that occur daily, I know, but one that has captured the attention of all media and seems so symbolic of the ugliness and hatred still raging through our country along racial lines. Sometimes, I feel totally inadequate in the face of such continued violence and the responses to it. Inadequate to have opinions or write about feelings or try to show sympathy or have a response that in any way makes any difference. Mostly, I am quiet about it. But, I also feel guilty about being quiet when there is so much to be righteously outraged about. Conversely, I also feel that even the act of me talking/writing about it is somehow co-opting someone else's tragedy or voice. I can only nod in agreement when I see wise people write thoughtful and thought-provoking essays and shake my head in frustration when I see ill-informed people writing and saying ignorant things. It was helpful for me to read this essay today:
There is one clear thing that I can do to make a difference and that is what she states here:
"We will need to sit down with our children and talk about privilege. This means honest conversations about how we were raised and what we need to work on. No blaming or shaming, but truth. It's not productive to deny how hard we all work for what we have, but it's not honest to deny that many of us are afforded privileges based on who we are and what we look like."
I also like that she makes a connection, as she does with all of her work, from the personal to the communal/universal. It is becoming clearer and clearer to me that the violence we visit on other people, in both tiny and enormous ways, comes from the violence we visit on ourselves by not understanding or confronting our own truth - both light and dark. We must learn to take care of ourselves so that we can take care of others.
See? My words are inadequate. I am inadequate. But, I know that putting away my sadness about these world events or my own (tiny) personal events does me no good. There are days when the joy is hard to find. I'll still be looking for it and hugging my children tomorrow, but it's OK for me to be sad for as long as I need to be sad. That is something I am coming to understand that has taken me a long time. I try to eradicate sadness through self-improvement, action, etc. But, sometimes, it's OK to feel sad without trying to erase it. I don't have to live in it forever, but I do need to acknowledge its existence and learn what it has to teach me. Pushing it away never, ever works.
This is when playing the piano comes in to save me. I had another former student (not a piano major) who wrote on FB today that "the piano will have my heart for life." Sniff. Yes. When all other relationships go away, at least - thank god - I have the piano (whether it is me playing it or listening to someone else play it).
So, here's some Mozart for you. I've been practicing this sonata lately. Mozart really brings it home around the 5:50ish mark. I can't listen to those suspensions without having an intense physical/emotional reaction. And, then when the primary melody comes back at 6:43 after all the Sturm und Drang, and Perahia plays it with a little hesitation, as if it is much less naive and more world-weary.....Oh my heart. Sigh.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3TWEXIkndg&list=RDD3TWEXIkndg
Another source of comfort is, as usual, poetry. Here's the end of one I read recently - entitled "Strewn" and written by Barbara Crooker. She is describing the sights on a sea-side walk with all of the shells....
...Nothing whole, everything
broken, washed up here, stranded. The light pours down, a rinse
of lemon on a cold plate. All of us, broken, some way
or other. All of us dazzling in the brilliant slanting light.
*****
All of us broken and dazzling. Ain't that the truth, dear reader? To ignore the brokenness or the brilliance is to not really live. Sigh.
So, I shall now look at some cute cat pictures on the internet, read a chapter in my latest book, and bid you goodnight! I do know, at least, that I will most likely have the privilege of a tomorrow.
Peace and love for tonight.
Thanks for reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment