There is something about staking a claim to a dream that earlier in my life would have seemed rather off-putting, but I have since grown to expect, even love. It's the imperfection of it all.
When it's no longer enough to do those smaller, symbolic acts (listening to webcasts of the music you love, carving out of small "retreat" moments at the coffee shop, the beach chair in the snow, borrowing a little red car -- even visualizing a good job or healing), it is so tempting to hope for perfection on the next step of the journey. We've all worked hard and deserve a little perfection. And yet this is the earth plane. The next step is bound to be delightfully, messily, imperfect.
This visit to England has started in Cambridge, and it was such good fortune that King's College's services extended through Easter (most of the college chapels are on break.) Yes, I was truly in Liz heaven, with three evening services in four days. To get good seats required arriving quite early to queue up and -- two of the days -- being pelted by penetrating cold rain and wind, from which I am still warming up. Then at one of the services, I ended up sitting near a couple who decided to get into a sotto voce argument during the singing of the canticles. I mean, really? You are within feet of one of the best choirs in the world, and you are missing out and distracting everyone around you? Despite a barrage of pointed looks from one and all, they continued whispering for a few more minutes. I think when I was younger, I might have gone away dissatisfied that these people had "ruined" the whole experience. But the joy of 60 is, hey, you're just glad to be there. You're glad to be anywhere, period. In the end, what I focused on were the miracles: hearing this choir again in person, meeting an American student as enthusiastic about choral evensong as I am (and with whom I have a number of friends in common) and, probably, most memorably, the fact that after Easter evensong they opened the enormous West doors of the chapel for people to exit from. The rain had stopped, and an ethereal pale yellow light suffused the door and the glorious stained glass window above. Walking toward and through this towering portal left me quite breathless. For about five minutes, I took in the misty "Backs," feeling almost like I was having an out-of-body experience. Eventually, there was nothing to be done but to walk around the front court, out the gate, and into the cacophonous Cambridge streets. I had been through a portal all right, but I'm just not sure yet what it all means.
When life gives you the opportunity to make a dream just a little more real, go for it, even if there is great imperfection mixed in with the perfection, even if it is in a brief or limited way. In a world that sometimes seems to have too few miracles, whatever step you take toward your dream is a miracle. And it's important to see how the world looks from that new "place" on the other side of the portal.
