Sometimes when you are trying to put yourself back together again, the Universe presents you with clues, kind of experiential neon signs saying, "Look here! Remember this?" Like an amnesiac, you might have been presented with these kinds of clues for months, years, or even decades, and simply not recognized them. But as the fog lifts (or you start to exit the cave), they become visible again. And not only do you see or hear them, but you sense in yourself an energy of excitement or even passion. "That's me!"
The other night, I found myself speaking French to a native-speaker. While I stumbled somewhat initially, the fact is that within minutes the language was coming back to me, over forty years since my last French class, in high school. I remembered that my highest AP score all those years ago was in French, not English or History. Hmm...I loved speaking French again. Clue number one.
This encounter led to clue number two, in the form of several tiny photographs of French chateaux on a cell phone. I worshipfully extended my finger out and touched the images of formal gardens, magnificent architecture and furnishings, even 18th century costumes in silk and satin. I was like a starving woman being presented with a meal.
There might be said to be two major kinds of beauty, natural and "man-made." For decades, I have immersed myself in the former, trying to fully appreciate America's majestic mountains, great lakes, deserts and farmlands. I've lived in them, painted paintings of them, rowed and sailed in them, driven long distances in them, taken photographs of them, and otherwise "tried" to connect to or create a passion for these places.
But last night's clue uncovered the truth. In a heartbeat, I would trade decades of natural beauty for even one year surrounded by the sublime of a different sort. Not just English cathedrals and abbeys, but English or French stately homes and gardens, great oil paintings (portrait and landscape), old silver, oriental rugs, and great books. I would stop wearing cotton shirts and jeans and disintegrating sandals, and exchange them with velvet and fine fabrics and jewelry. Old world, antique surroundings and items, as well as music, are my passion. My master's thesis analyzed a 12th century musical "office" (or series of chants for all the monastic services for a day) written in honor of an 8th century French saint...
I can see how I managed to convince myself that such things were irrelevant 30 years ago, in 80's Reagan America, and it's easy even now to try to do the same again. And yet, when you sing a song you thought you would never sing, or speak a language that you thought you had forgotten, or touch a postage-stamp-sized image with longing and awe, I guess you need to pay attention. That just might be the real "you" speaking.
NOTE: I'm having a few computer issues, and may not be as regular at posting the next few days as I would like. I'll do my best, and see you soon! Thanks for reading!
