Regular readers know that after my injury back in late December, I went through a succession of what I called "gates," processes that involved healing and new understandings prompted by being in recovery mode.
This week, I took my first solo trip to London by train. On past visits to England, this was par for the course, but this time, I had become almost phobic about the prospect of dealing with the big city, the crowds, the tube, etc. Indeed, it took me until only about two weeks ago to take the train to a nearby small city. Once I navigated that successfully, it seemed like it was time for London.
I was surprised to find that my big city, New York genes immediately took hold, and although I move much more carefully than I used to, I didn't feel actively afraid, even heading down those mile long escalators in the tube. The day involved seeing some beloved art at the National Gallery, a bus to St. Paul's Cathedral, and then, of course, choral evensong. There were amusing encounters with an exasperated gallery guard (run ragged by people leaning over the guardrails and nearly touching the paintings, and taking close-up photographs), a bus driver light-heartedly teasing me about my not knowing how to use my day travel pass, and a lonely soul on the city bus with a sadly inadequate blond wig, but lots of spirit and knowledge, who tour-guided the way up Fleet Street. The service, although evensong, was not one where they allowed seating in the choir stalls, so it was fascinating to hear the music from the crossing, near the modern altar. As at St. John the Divine in New York, there is almost too much reverberation. Oddly, I found myself less wishing I were singing in the choir, and more wishing I could give a "sermon" in such a vast space, to hear my echoing voice speaking to the crowds.
Several years ago, I wrote about how I've often felt that my soul has actually been residing in London, and certainly my day there only underscored the feeling that I could easily replicate that experience morning after morning for the rest of my life. As I reach the end of this visit, I haven't crossed that off my bucket list. But I have reached the end of the road in terms of trying to find ways to make "permanence" work. I've run out of the "excuses" that I always hoped would bring serendipity ("I'm going over to study for a master's, to receive my diploma, to take an art course, to write about Herbert Howells, to sing or write about evensong"...) Now I think England will have to reach over across the Atlantic, and find its own excuse to want me here. Certainly for the short term in the U.S., my goal is to write a book, and get it out into the world. It will be rather different than this blog, which has only attracted small numbers of readers, but I'm not writing it differently to attract readers, just to give this post-63 path a little seasoning.
I am thankful for this portal journey and all its gifts. My life has definitely changed, in ways that I am sure will become clearer and clearer. I'll check in when I get back stateside.
