see my soul

yesterday after church an 84 years young woman sat with me and taught me how to use the book of common prayer. duh, it was so easy. but the church calendar is pretty integral to the whole thing. if you don't know that it's the fifth sunday after easter, you're pretty well sunk, as i could never figure out what was to be read when.

mystery solved. i prayed through the prayer book (this morning for the first time) and hopefully will get into the morning, noon, evening prayer routine. my teacher told me she used to pray her morining prayers on the subway into the city, and her evening prayers on the way out. which makes a great deal of sense to me. the prayers are so eloquent and in this day and age of bland words and lackluster phrasing, it is nice to read some truly beautiful language. and it is still foreign enough to me, though i've been praying the liturgy for about six or eight months, that i find it immensely intriguing.

i walked to the library yesterday, and true to form, i dropped my tape player and yelled an expletive. but composed myself and looked into the woods. there i saw a doe, not five feet from me bedded down. she did not move. or startle. she merely turned her elegant head and watched me walk by. i like to think she saw my soul. that she looked into my eyes and knew she need not fear. that she stayed so close because of perfect Love. this is what i tell myself anyway. she was exquisite. she was alone. she was serendipitous in all manner of ways. if i wasn't almost late to hear a pianist, i would have stopped and regarded her for a while. but then she might have bolted if i hadn't kept moving away. better, to leave me with my joyous trust. the momentary bond between us. she was gorgeous i tell you.

so i get to the library and the room is about 2/3 full. i find a spot where i can be apart from the traffic, from people in front of me and see out the windows without having to stare at anyone. (all these things make a great deal of difference.)

the israeli pianist starts to play, and she was elegant in manner and music. i heard things i have never heard before. what she called "tone gestures" by a composer who took hebrew words and put them to sound, a ten minute piece that was quite compelling.

when i attend readings, musical events (save the orchestra), i tend to shut my eyes and focus all my attention on sound. trying to block my visual cues as i am easily distracted. sometimes when guitarists play though, i have to watch them, they make the greatest faces. but i let my mind waft away in dance and song upon the sounds. i found myself being brought rudely back, almost like being pulled back from a waking dream when the audience would applaud. as if my falling would hit a conscious ground and i opened my eyes to find her bowing.

once the audience chimed in between pieces, and i, being unaware of anything other than the music joined in the applause. it was the wrong time, between pieces, and she played on once silence resumed. i wrote a poem about it and went to give it to her mother who was visiting from israel. her mother told me to give the poem to her myself, and so i did.

the pianist said,

this has never happened to me before

.

after i handed her my poem transcribed and dedicated. i certainly hope it is worth her while. i still like the poem. so maybe. just maybe.

on the way out of the library i found another caterpillar. this one bedecked about with redorange hairs and a single white stripe down his back with blue dots on either side of the stripe. his face was black, as was the undershading of his body under the fuzz and colours. his fuzz reminded me of the pomegranates and bells the OT priests wore into the holy of holies. perhaps he'd just come from ministering in God's presence. then i noticed his entire face was covered in yellow pollen, like he just went down on a flower. (yes, my thoughts do plunge and swell that fast). i held him in my hand and he was extremely slow. he went belly up a couple times because i cupped my hand too quickly. i wondered if he was dying, but he seemed to perk up now and again. i'm not sure if he'll make it (or if he did make it), i brought him home for my daughter to see and she turned him loose in the bushes. i had rescued him from the sidewalk and certain death.

that is all, the poem i wrote:


Usurping Silence


Crowds break in
___with much applause
Afraid to hear, to listen
___lest joy light upon them
___grief, despair
Crowds break in
___usurping silence
Afraid to listen
___afraid to hear
Too much silence might
_________stir
___hope long forgotten
___dreams all but dead
To listen, to yield to artist
___and compassion
Let me rather
___pierce the silences
Rush past the depths of
___soul
Let me rather
___hum and stir
___amuse myself
Than yield to
___angelic voices
___rhythmic bliss
Reminders of how far
___from mystery
___I've fallen
To sit in silence
___would loose too many
___dreams forgotten
Tremulous hope
___Stirring agony
______Let me rather
Applaud
___usurping silence.



for Ofra Yitzhaki

(it is a delicate thing for poet and pianist alike, to incorporate
silence into their compositions)