Organ-Playing Power

It sort of surprised me yesterday when I said I miss playing the organ -- I let it stand and figured my statement would percolate. Well, it only took about the amount of time it takes a pot of coffee to percolate to reach an "aha".

Sure, there is a very small degree to which I miss the satisfaction of playing, say, a great hymn or a Bach Prelude and Fugue. (Despite having radically pared back on my belongings, I still hold onto two volumes of Bach organ music and a 1940 Hymnal! Whether my feel or hands would remember how to play today, I don't know.)

But it hit me. The main thing I miss about the organ is the feeling of power. The fact that you can be playing softly, and then, within one or two seconds, pull out "all the stops" (often via a general piston) and create what must potentially be the loudest musical sound in the world. It is breathtaking to be in that position! And then if you happen to be in a church or cathedral with excellent, resonant acoustics, the whole building becomes your instrument.

Back in my childhood when the only church roles for women were Sunday School teacher and Altar Guild (my mother even declined to play either part!), my handful of times playing a hymn during a service arguably gave me power beyond that of all the women in the building, combined. I was good at playing hymns majestically and singably (I guess this isn't a real word...) I would have made an amazing cathedral organist/choirmaster...if, if, if, right? 

Feeling from the heart, I realize that I have never (in the subsequent 45-50 years) felt as powerful. Whoa. And I've never, yet anyway, felt the same ability to lead. I've never felt as "heard". This isn't about going backwards or having regrets. It's just the first time appreciating that I know what those things feel like, from an early experience that I didn't associate with power, leadership and "being heard" (perhaps in the larger sense). Whoa, again.

 

Church music and so forth

Last night, I listened online to an organ recital given by a friend. It reminded me of my own history as an organist, which I haven't spoken about much, but perhaps I did best in "Fugue" (August 12, 2015). 

Basically, I turned to the organ as a teenager, arguably as a substitute for singing in the English men-and-boys' choir tradition. With expertise playing the organ, perhaps down the road I could enter that world through the proverbial back door; shorter term, there was the immediate gratification of being a powerful woman making a loud noise! However, I knew even then that the organ wasn't my passion. The high point of my career, at 21, was my Smith College senior organ recital, after which the whole thing petered out. For a time I blamed it on a poorly-set broken little finger (which genuinely made impossible the playing of really fast passages), but in fact it was disinterest. Once I returned from the UK in 1981 realizing that the entry of women into "my" milieu was decades away (and, hey, to this day there has never been a female conductor of the Choir of King's College, Cambridge, which was my specific dream), I simply dropped organ playing completely. But watching a superior organist from time to time is a thrill, and my hands and feet try to play along. It is an amazing instrument. On some level, I miss it like crazy.

I am grieving another aspect of church music, which I suspect factors into my finally having dropped choral evensong almost completely from my life. I guess I'll say this short and sweet, without too much explanation. It gets back to the words again, not the music and the harmonies...given what is currently happening in the Middle East, I find the singing of psalms (to my beloved Anglican chant) utterly unbearable. That is all I will say.

I guess it goes to show (going back to the boxes "thing") that to live with total inner integrity, it is impossible to keep shuffling your boxes around, to keep thinking "I can continue to do A as long as I box up B and never look at it." (And given the fact that I have really never had a home and my belongings have literally almost always been in boxes, this is serious food for thought!) Becoming truly honest with oneself requires opening all the boxes. All of them. And looking at the contents thoughtfully, and really being honest about one's past, present and future.

None of this changes what feels like a serious break in my old patterns, hopes, dreams, and disappointments around church music (this moment feels like a whole new era!), but some of the old threads are still dangling, and need to be either unravelled, cut, or re-woven. And metaphorically at least, any boxes that go forward with me will stay wide, wide open! Perhaps they will be made of plexiglass so I can always see the contents and gauge whether they continue to bring me joy. I simply haven't got the energy to carry anything heavy or joyless. Anything. 

Too Big for the Small Boxes

Well, I hadn't intended to write again this weekend, but in the interests of chronicling the process of being a modern American woman mystic, I need to report on something that happened in the middle of the night last night. I mean, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. I was rather anxiety-ridden for a number of reasons. Yet suddenly, harkening back to my post (and picture) about the parts of my life falling into the wake of my boat, something hit me. Not only are most of these departing things simply "limitations". A case could be made that I've grown way beyond them, become literally too big for them. Heck, perhaps I was beyond some of them in 1956! All along, I haven't been able to fit into the small boxes. I couldn't fit into the small career boxes, or still-small expectations of and roles for women, or the rigidities of most of our constructs. I couldn't fit into the box of using money, not love, as human currency. And now, having been through the process I have been through, I know I couldn't go back to aspiring only to sing in a particular choir, or even to live anywhere (England or elsewhere) simply for the sake of being in a beautiful place. Between my own inner expansion and the process that our whole world is going through right now, I am just simply "too big" for who I was even a year ago (and this is hard to say, being somewhat overweight!)

What happened next is that I spent a good hour or more feeling complete and utter joy. Expansive joy. Perhaps it was bliss! I mean, I'm not completely sure how to describe it. I was smiling ear-to-ear, and felt like my head was literally in the clouds. For that hour, all my anxiety about where I belong (or what I should or should not do next) completely disappeared...perhaps in part because more fully understanding this reality about myself brought peace. Of course so many aspects of our world have been uninteresting, irrelevant, like trying to understand a foreign language. I may not be a "5D" person yet, but I've been energetically on such a different wavelength from the culture at large that it has been constantly grating. As we enter the Aquarian Age, perhaps just enough of the global energy has shifted that hours (not just minutes) of bliss are possible. And online, I'm hearing and seeing other people walk through processes that I recognize. It is clear that we are in a new era, and if I felt alone before, at least I know now that I am not. (I'm still not sure I feel it yet!)

So many metaphors, so little time...boxes, boats, what will I think of next? I guess I'll just leave it at that for now...

Hodgepodge

Over the years, I've never used "hodgepodge" to title a blog post of miscellaneous observations. (It looks like "miscellany" has been my go-to.) It is not a very beautiful-sounding term, so I hate to use it at this moment, but on the other hand, it makes me smile. Smiles are rare right now.

So, in no particular order, my hodgepodge...

Today is a powerful new moon. New beginnings...

My recent "thing" about England and its church music having seemingly dropped out of my energy field continues to be true. In a sense, this may be a case of "be careful what you wish for" -- perhaps under the surface I always wished to be set free from this narrowly-defined dream, but now it is unnerving that it may have actually happened. I want a little certainty back! (If I knew nothing else about myself, it was that I loved England!) And perhaps it isn't permanent. Yet so far it seems to mark a real energetic break. My hunch is that in their old forms, these two intertwined passions would potentially hold me back from playing the role the Goddess needs from me in this new era.

I went up to Saratoga yesterday. For the price of a city bus, it's a little like going to an upscale metropolitan neighborhood. In a mere four days or so, the foothills of the Adirondacks went from cold, grey, and barren, to summer. (Everything is speeding up, I guess, even the change of seasons.) People were out, eating in sidewalk cafes, carrying shopping bags from posh stores, wearing actual summer clothing, and sitting down to rest and rehydrate. The greens and yellows on grass and in gardens blossomed almost literally in front of my eyes.

I had another "aha moment" up there, actually, as I was in the public library, escaping the heat. I listened to the seniors who were volunteering in the library's book shop, talking about things that didn't interest me, just as I had taken in clips of such conversations on the bus and on the street, just as I have done with conversations around me all my life. I acutely felt the omnipresent split of being in a world that, in effect, doesn't interest me -- heck, I almost passed out at how uncomfortable it felt. But then it hit me, that's it! I need to be surrounded with people who talk about the same things that interest me! I cannot split myself in two any more, clearly. Sure, the old paradigm is still in place, but the time has come to be surrounded by others creating the new paradigm, honoring the Goddess, and living as far into the future as apparently I have always been. The time has come, within me more than anything, to validate the new paradigm and attract such places and people. That will truly be "home".

As I walked around, I was also struck by how immensely privileged and fortunate I was to be in such a place for the day, not dealing with (at least superficially) the issues that much of the world (and the country) are dealing with. I sent out waves of gratitude.

I am thankful, too, that the astronauts got back safely. Their comments this week were touching and inspiring. But as I must have said at least once before, there is a problem with our further exploration of space, just as there is with our activities here on earth. We don't seem to have ever asked Earth for Her permission and guidance interacting with Her, and we don't seem to have consulted with the Moon either. Does She welcome human exploration and settlement? Why have we never had constructs in place to put Earth's (or Moon's) needs first, before human progress? (If we did, it was in "pre-history"...) 

OK, that's it. Normally, when I'm not super pleased with the perfection of one of my posts, I hold off, but this doesn't seem to be an era in which to do that. Particularly not on the new moon. So, take care, all. Keep breathing this weekend, and let in the new.

Symptoms

After listening to one of my peeps online yesterday, I gather that another "symptom" of the ascension process is having, in effect, moments from your life flashing before your eyes, at least metaphorically. Last Saturday, this happened to me quite intensively. It's happened once or twice over the last few years, but this was different...almost like a strange, daylong, surreal movie. Part of what is odd is that the scenes were largely of my life in smaller-town America, not my time in the UK, or in New York City or DC. Things like interviewing for a waitressing job in Duluth, and being hired because I had "personality plus". Taking the small bus from where I was living in Helena, Montana (the YWCA) to Walmart to shop...the bus did a constant loop, but that was basically the only place on the route to get food or clothing. Driving from Essex, New York to Middlebury, Vermont (or back again) by a certain barn that stuck out on the horizon. Back to Duluth, practicing with the rowing club on the bay early in the morning, when the moon was setting and the sun was rising...and so forth. Saturday was literally a stream of these kinds of random, unremarkable memories, not the momentous ones. Sometimes I still wish that my life had been filled with dreams come true, regular opportunities to sing choral evensong in the UK, visits to top museums and restaurants, and a normal home, husband and children, lovely clothing...a lot of stars would have to have aligned for this to happen, including my being more in sync with our capitalist system! These lowkey memories may be the ones I feel most bittersweet about, too, even though I now understand that, as a mystic, it might have been impossible for me to have a "normal" life anywhere. In a movie of my life, perhaps they would be the quiet segue scenes. Given what I have been writing about the last few times, I guess the best way to approach these vignettes is with curiosity. "I wonder why I am remembering these events and moments right now?"

Another symptom? After a lifetime of passion for English church music and England generally, on this second or third day of passion's disappearance, I am struggling to find a thread of enthusiasm for any aspect of my life at all...it's not depression exactly. Not yet. But it's like the floor has dropped out of my world. I mean, I know that this is what many of us are going through, a complete re-assessment of everything, less of a willingness to accept lower energies that have dragged us down, or the aspects of our life that will not be useful in the future. This is a lull in the action, a pivot point, and we need to keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Updated ways of expressing my inner life passion are near, but not here yet. And because so much is shifting, I cannot "look for a new way of being" with my left brain logic. I need to stay focused within, and feel when that little curlicue of excitement breaks through my consciousness. (When, not if!)

The strange thing is, I am antsy as heck, and feel ready to go, but with no idea where or to do what! So I'll keep breathing, and be where I am until I know. 

Two Days

If we have the luxury of looking back in a few years -- if there is still a left-brained "timeline" view of history at all (which I am not certain will be the case) -- I may look back on April 11-12, 2026 as having been even more of a personal turning point than many of the others that I have recorded in this blog. (Perhaps a major turning point for the world as well, but I'll leave that to others to analyze.)

It all started with my post four days ago, "The Boat, from Above", then the quick revolving door realization that it would be richer to consider the old aspects of my life as things to approach with curiosity before completely abandoning them. To find different ways of looking at them...

To be honest, after my subsequent post, I didn't have much time for contemplation. By my standards, it was a busy weekend that included a concert and a short road trip through upstate New York's grey, not yet seriously greening, landscape. This morning, I awoke bolt upright at about 1:30 am, and realized something shocking. For the first time in this lifetime, when I thought about England, I didn't feel one ripple of emotion, either "When and how can I get back there?" or "I need to find somewhere to live where I will forget how much I want to get back there!" I mean, I felt nearly no ripple of enthusiasm whatsoever, at least for the general idea of returning, even for a visit. If I were to find a community of kindred spirits in England, it would be an entirely different story. But somehow, the energy around that country, per se, as my-only-place-to-be has shifted in a major way. It took about 65 years. Yikes.

Add to that the fact that I found the Capital District outskirts profoundly depressing as we drove around. In my year-plus back here, I have yet to make an emotional connection to the area of my birth and upbringing. I've better come to peace with it, yes, and it has been a perfect place to undergo substantial changes, but I don't feel grounded or any sense that my rebirth is "about being here". It's a good reminder -- our joy and growth come from within, not from externals. But when added to certainty that previous home bases are unlikely to factor in to my future, I had an unnerving middle-of-the-night hour of complete dislocation before falling back asleep. England had tethered me somewhat all those years. It was a certainty, something that defined me. Suddenly -- poof! -- for the next leg of the journey, it may define me no more. Spiritual vertigo...very unnerving. 

If I hadn't done, like, thirty years of intensive spiritual work, I suspect that this weekend would have been shattering. Perhaps my body would have decided, "Enough is enough!" and I would have faded away. But I've done enough inner growth and outer "listening to other spiritual seekers" to realize that this current shift upwards is a singular event. If earlier humans experienced such sudden transitions in consciousness, we have no record of it. I suspect that these two days were an unsettling giant leap for other mystics as well, and I recount my experience in the hope that it might help support us all, so we don't feel as alone.

Curiosity

In my last piece, I spoke of the facets of my life that are flying out behind me into the past, in the wake of my little boat. It's interesting. I came "this close" in that post to falling back into old-fashioned duality; "Such-and-such was in my life in the past, but now it's over", kind of thing. I avoided that by making my way to a "place" of a bit more nuance, saying I don't want to feel as limited as I have in the past. I don't want to make as many assumptions. Over the last two days, hearing the word "curiosity" out in the world led me to yet another perspective on this picture...

What if, in looking at the concepts bobbing about in the wake of my boat, I was even more expansive? What if I worked with these things just a bit longer, by expressing curiosity? "I'm curious!! What would it be like if...?" My list was long, so I won't present all of the factors, but here are a few to illustrate what I mean:

• I'm curious. What would it be like to be fearless? What would the world look like if it were conflict-free?
• I'm curious. What are my expectations for myself at 70?
• I'm curious. What kind of life would best suit me now, after so many changes?
• I'm curious. What would it be like to feel worthwhile? What would it be like to feel respected and honored?
• I'm curious. What would it be like to use my old paradigm education on behalf of the Goddess? Same with my musical talent, and writing and art skills. What is the bridge to using them more powerfully in the new paradigm?
• I'm curious. What would it be like never to hold back my joy?
• I'm curious. What would it be like to meet a soulmate, or a big warm community?
• I'm curious. What would it be like to be completely openminded about my next home, to be led there only by love (not past expectations or money limitations)?
• I'm curious. What would it be like to sing from a place of joy, no matter what the song or setting?

And perhaps most importantly, I am curious about my core self. How can I better embody the Goddess? What kind of leadership role will I play? How can I help harmonize the world?

Asking these kinds of open-ended questions feels much better! I mean, this whole exercise has been outrageously powerful, but was (and may still be for weeks to come) "a process", not a destination. I'll probably be journaling on most of the points listed above. 

As sometimes happens, I seem to be reading the perfect book to accompany me during this process: Susan Vreeland's The Forest Lover, about Canadian artist Emily Carr. (I thought I had read this book years ago, but evidently it was another account of her life.) After early artistic efforts to create a visual record of the totems and way of life of native peoples, she studies in Paris, then goes through a long stretch where inspiration eludes her and art supplies are not available, during World War One. This comes to an end at the Armistice, with the death of her beloved dog, and her realization that she has "truer things to do". I seem to be doing a lot of crying recently, and that phrase set me off again. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I have "truer things to do."