A few weeks ago, as I was leaving the back room in the church where we hold our weekly contact improv events, I was stopped short by the sound of singing coming from the Sanctuary Hall. I carefully opened the door. The hall was empty except for a chorale group rehearsing a piece softly and beautifully. I put down my bags and sat quietly in a one of the back pews. I was immediately overcome with the presence of my mother. Never religious per se, she loved chorale and holy music with a passion. I thought about her face and her nervous, forthright walk and how she always carried a sense of longing with her. A sense that, though she knew she had more than enough in the world, she was not quite where she wanted to be. I thought about how she would have probably been a dedicated chorale singer if she hadnt been so busy making dinners for my father, taking dogs for walks and giving children baths. Her sweetness and stubbornness and the struggle she made in life to find her self. The same deep soul wrestling most of us do at some point and have done for as long as we have have been what we are. I thought about how much we care, we humans. For thousands upon thousands of years we live and die holding a candle for ourselves and the people we love and how our lives matter so much to us. I cried for a while, alone in the church. Then slid through the door and out into the darkness. Heres to the power of music. Here is the piece they were practicing that night. chorale group was rehearsing a piece so softly and beautifully.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Dec 2014 16:41:10 +0000
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