Probably every person on this planet has a different definition of what would be a peak experience for them. And mine actually happened at yesterday's service. I am singing in one of England's major cathedrals, in a group of excellent, experienced amateur singers. We were conducted at last night's service by the man who conducted Royal Holloway's choir when I was a student, and it was as if not one second had passed (instead of 36 years!) Singing in my right ear was a dear friend and professional singer, and we sang the extraordinary music of William Byrd. The choir was surrounded by a large, beautiful, and clearly appreciative congregation, and the sound was glorious. I could almost feel my entire body "zinging" (as well as singing).
I can't help but think that my British fellow singers cannot quite know what it is like for this to be such a rare moment, since choral evensong is so easily available to them to sing or hear in person. I confess that just now, I really "lost it." Despite all my confident plans for imbuing this trip with finality and closure, the effect has, of course, been just the opposite. I know when I'm in my element and in my tribe, and this is it. After all these years, I still don't get why I just can't simply be home, in my element. The answer must lie within me, but as of this writing, I cannot hear it.
Rocks of any size have been hard to find here in the ultra-civilized south of England, so whether my "cairn" moment will involve actually creating a pile of stones or simply burying a heart-shaped crystal I brought with me, I don't know. I guess I'll wing it in a few hours. But I know now the prayer I will say, the words of last night's hymn:
Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on;
The night is dark and I am far from home,
Lead thou me on;
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see the distant scene;
One step is enough for me.
