Last week, I finally attended a cathedral evensong service. It seems crazy that it would take so long but there are distance issues for this suddenly hesitant traveller. The twenty minutes of listening to the choir rehearse and the subsequent service were glorious. The men and boys' choir has one woman in it, a countertenor/alto of course, and I caught her eye as the choir processed out.
If anyone ever writes the proverbial book about the entry of girls and women into this field, I wonder if I will be included. That there was a little girl from Schenectady, New York, USA, who was an early pioneer will seem improbable, but I do believe my role was significant. As some of you know, by 1960, I had fallen in love with the music (based on what I heard the men and boys sing at our Episcopal church.) I was heartbroken being consigned to the "girls' choir." By the time I was ten, I told people I would be the first woman conductor of King's College Cambridge, and I started listening and singing to recordings to teach myself Anglican chant and the canticle repertoire. I took up the organ, and majored in music at college. I am quite sure (based on the looks on the men's faces) that I was the first woman to attend St. Thomas Fifth Avenue's choirmaster's conference, in 1980. I sang with Royal Holloway's choir during my MMus year at the University of London, and only gave up on my dream in the early 80's when it seemed girls and women would never have a significant role. Ten years ago, I allowed the fire of my passion some oxygen again, and in that time, auditioned (unsuccessfully) for two British cathedral choirs, sang for nine months in the choir of St. John the Divine in New York, and wrote and published two articles on composer Herbert Howells. I have sung one service at King's, and a week of services at Canterbury, as well as gotten to know a number of my heroes and heroines.
These are all blessings way beyond what the tradition would have offered in the 1960's, yet I suspect if you add up all the choral evensong services I have actually sung, they would amount to about two months in the lives of the women currently singing as countertenors. Perhaps this might be easy to dismiss, but I cannot. I have said in the past that I had no career, but having reached 63, I realize, these efforts were my career. No, I never received a salary or benefits. I paid my own way (with occasional much-appreciated help from friends!) I've lived with almost unbearable unsettledness the last few years in order to take advantage of singing or research opportunities. And a case could be made (given that I was en route to cathedral midnight mass when I fell) that I've given my right arm to experience the music I love!
But on my birthday, when I caught the eye of the woman in the choir, I think I passed the baton. I feel at peace. I played the role I was meant to play, and did it as well as I could given that there was absolutely no "how-to" book. I did it with as much integrity as I knew how. I did it with all the love and passion that I have. Will I ever sing another service? I don't know. I'm not sure I have the energy, frankly. That's OK. As is the case with other people retiring from their careers, it is time for younger women and new situations. I believe I have been of service in a small but unique way. This recent injury has propelled me through a series of "gates," and looking ahead, the light is bright with no distinct landmarks. I do know that any future path will have to feature the level of beauty and spiritual resonance as church music, but I'm also hoping for a slightly higher level of acceptance, comfort, and ease. I want to walk through gates now, not break them down.
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Tuesday, February 12, 2019
I do declare
This week involved yet another post-injury "gate," but I'm not quite sure what to call it.
OK, so as I have probably mentioned, the psychological fallout from this fall has almost equalled the physical fallout. The first few weeks, I was almost unbearably anxious about just going out and walking even a few blocks, into shops, or up or down stairs. Some of this was because I was so beautifully bunged up, but most of it was that everything loomed large and scary. Before walking outside, I would pray to every god or goddess there is that I would get home safely. "Please let me walk safely. Please let me navigate that stair or uneven sidewalk," etc. Asking for help from above is obviously traditional in these situations, but I think it added to my feeling of helplessness...it started to reinforce the idea that my safety was genuinely out of my hands. I think it started to make me feel more childlike than I really wanted to feel right now.
So the last few days, I have tried to make declarations: "I declare that I am safe today." "I declare that I am up to the task of getting back safely," etc. I tried to take it a little beyond new age "affirmations." I mean, who, historically, have made declarations? CEO's, kings, queens, magicians, governments. People in power, really. I guess I just wanted to feel what it felt like to have the power to state what I wanted and expect it to take place. I don't know that the outcome of recent days has been different (although I am experiencing some progress with my wrist and hand) but I do like feeling more empowered. That's a good name, the Gate of Empowerment.
OK, so as I have probably mentioned, the psychological fallout from this fall has almost equalled the physical fallout. The first few weeks, I was almost unbearably anxious about just going out and walking even a few blocks, into shops, or up or down stairs. Some of this was because I was so beautifully bunged up, but most of it was that everything loomed large and scary. Before walking outside, I would pray to every god or goddess there is that I would get home safely. "Please let me walk safely. Please let me navigate that stair or uneven sidewalk," etc. Asking for help from above is obviously traditional in these situations, but I think it added to my feeling of helplessness...it started to reinforce the idea that my safety was genuinely out of my hands. I think it started to make me feel more childlike than I really wanted to feel right now.
So the last few days, I have tried to make declarations: "I declare that I am safe today." "I declare that I am up to the task of getting back safely," etc. I tried to take it a little beyond new age "affirmations." I mean, who, historically, have made declarations? CEO's, kings, queens, magicians, governments. People in power, really. I guess I just wanted to feel what it felt like to have the power to state what I wanted and expect it to take place. I don't know that the outcome of recent days has been different (although I am experiencing some progress with my wrist and hand) but I do like feeling more empowered. That's a good name, the Gate of Empowerment.
Monday, February 4, 2019
Sparkles on the water
Today's post has no gates, although I've walked through some small garden ones this week.
It may be this strange half-light of recovering from an injury, or it may be just me being me. But over the last few weeks watching world news, I cannot help but just be stunned by the basic misunderstanding that is generating events. I believe that most of the people in this world belong to one "family," the family of sparkling souls who have chosen earth for our temporary home as we learn more about the celestial music, and the powerful stream of love that we float in as the sun warms us. All this stuff about dividing everything up and separating people and drawing lines is so artificial, so spiritually unsound. There's that whole thing about looking at the photographs of earth from space. There isn't a straight line anywhere in that image, is there?
Yes, there are a small minority of folks who cannot hear the music, never sparkle with joy, never feel at one with the other droplets of water, but we can try not to buy into their vision. It's not easy being fearless about the future (said by a woman who is barely fearless about putting one foot in front of the other these days!) but I do believe that in a generation or two, sparkles on the water, love and joy will be the norm -- not fear -- and that belief sustains me as I roll with the river.
It may be this strange half-light of recovering from an injury, or it may be just me being me. But over the last few weeks watching world news, I cannot help but just be stunned by the basic misunderstanding that is generating events. I believe that most of the people in this world belong to one "family," the family of sparkling souls who have chosen earth for our temporary home as we learn more about the celestial music, and the powerful stream of love that we float in as the sun warms us. All this stuff about dividing everything up and separating people and drawing lines is so artificial, so spiritually unsound. There's that whole thing about looking at the photographs of earth from space. There isn't a straight line anywhere in that image, is there?
Yes, there are a small minority of folks who cannot hear the music, never sparkle with joy, never feel at one with the other droplets of water, but we can try not to buy into their vision. It's not easy being fearless about the future (said by a woman who is barely fearless about putting one foot in front of the other these days!) but I do believe that in a generation or two, sparkles on the water, love and joy will be the norm -- not fear -- and that belief sustains me as I roll with the river.
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Many Gates
It is now five weeks since my fall. I guess from this point forward I'll see my life in terms of "BF" (before the fall) and "AF" (after the fall, despite the religious connotations!) I think within minutes, I knew that I had, in effect, fallen through a gate, but what I am now realizing is that it has already been a succession of spiritual gates, almost as if I were on a Roman road going under archway after archway.
The first was, of course, the fall itself. You are shaken to bits, shocked, realigned, and rendered helpless. One minute you are planning to attend midnight mass, the next you are in the emergency room. Everything has changed. Maybe I'll call it the Gate of Change.
The second I'll call the Gate of the Angels. From that night, when all the doctors and nurses were in Santa hats, to now, everyone around me or on my path seems to have had it as their goal to help me. Perhaps this has been the case earlier in my life more than I realized (so many friends have been my angels!) but this has been a consistent thing and I see it, or more to the point, feel it. It's like the tide of my life seems to have turned around, and is going in the direction of buoying me up. My goodness.
Third has been the Gate of Empathy. I have been so fortunate vis a vis my health. So those first two weeks were so hard. I had bunged up both knees a bit was well as my wrist, and truly was rendered nearly unable to do anything, at least "normally." I was in pain, a bit angry, confused, humiliated. For the first time in my life, I can relate, to my friends who have had cancer or other diseases, my mom who I took care of as she was dying of emphysema, even the men and women on the street with walkers or canes. I am one of them, not looking on.
For the last week or two as you know from my last post, I've gone through the Gate of Vulnerability. I guess all I will add is this sense of wonder, imagining the thousands upon thousands of miles I've walked, run, bicycled, driven, taken buses, trains, planes, subways, ferries, rowed, sailed, and otherwise traversed with few incidents. Now, my courage seems to extend to getting the three blocks to the shops and back. I trust that I will regain a great deal of this day-to-day courage, but it's still early days.
I guess, as corny as it is, I'll refer to the latest gate as the Gate of Love. Have any of my readers watched "Great Canal Journeys," with actors Timothy West and Prunella Scales? They are, of course, the revered British actors who have been married over fifty years and share a love of narrow boating on canals. Scales is suffering from dementia, and the episode I saw this week was so extraordinarily touching. He is probably more aware than she that their time doing this together may be almost over. Their interactions are so poignant, loving, and in the moment. And what amazed me is that I related to them! I never married, have had no such consistent love or rewarding career. I think a few months ago I might have felt pain watching these sweet episodes, but instead, my heart seems to "get it." It made me so happy. Wow, five weeks, five spiritual gates. What will next week bring?!
The first was, of course, the fall itself. You are shaken to bits, shocked, realigned, and rendered helpless. One minute you are planning to attend midnight mass, the next you are in the emergency room. Everything has changed. Maybe I'll call it the Gate of Change.
The second I'll call the Gate of the Angels. From that night, when all the doctors and nurses were in Santa hats, to now, everyone around me or on my path seems to have had it as their goal to help me. Perhaps this has been the case earlier in my life more than I realized (so many friends have been my angels!) but this has been a consistent thing and I see it, or more to the point, feel it. It's like the tide of my life seems to have turned around, and is going in the direction of buoying me up. My goodness.
Third has been the Gate of Empathy. I have been so fortunate vis a vis my health. So those first two weeks were so hard. I had bunged up both knees a bit was well as my wrist, and truly was rendered nearly unable to do anything, at least "normally." I was in pain, a bit angry, confused, humiliated. For the first time in my life, I can relate, to my friends who have had cancer or other diseases, my mom who I took care of as she was dying of emphysema, even the men and women on the street with walkers or canes. I am one of them, not looking on.
For the last week or two as you know from my last post, I've gone through the Gate of Vulnerability. I guess all I will add is this sense of wonder, imagining the thousands upon thousands of miles I've walked, run, bicycled, driven, taken buses, trains, planes, subways, ferries, rowed, sailed, and otherwise traversed with few incidents. Now, my courage seems to extend to getting the three blocks to the shops and back. I trust that I will regain a great deal of this day-to-day courage, but it's still early days.
I guess, as corny as it is, I'll refer to the latest gate as the Gate of Love. Have any of my readers watched "Great Canal Journeys," with actors Timothy West and Prunella Scales? They are, of course, the revered British actors who have been married over fifty years and share a love of narrow boating on canals. Scales is suffering from dementia, and the episode I saw this week was so extraordinarily touching. He is probably more aware than she that their time doing this together may be almost over. Their interactions are so poignant, loving, and in the moment. And what amazed me is that I related to them! I never married, have had no such consistent love or rewarding career. I think a few months ago I might have felt pain watching these sweet episodes, but instead, my heart seems to "get it." It made me so happy. Wow, five weeks, five spiritual gates. What will next week bring?!
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
Vulnerability
This last week or so, I guess the shock of my fall and injury finally hit me. I've done a lot of crying, and just wanted to hole up under some covers to allow myself to heal. A lot of this is, I am sure, the body's natural reaction to shock or injury. But I realized a few times that there was almost literally an entire lifetime of grief emerging.
I've come to understand that part of the fallout from having a dad who is incapable of love, is that you simply never learn what it is like to be the center of someone's world. The message, while probably unspoken, from that first moment, was, "You are on your own, little baby." Yes, I had a roof over my childhood head and food on the table, even perks like a private school and a family summer home. But I finally understand that these were not done to care for us, they were done so that he would appear to be conforming to a WASP norm. My mom, bless her, must also have learned that caring for a narcissist meant that emotionally, he was all there was. I don't think I have ever felt on a heart level what it was like to be cherished, protected, a focus of love and attention. I have just attacked life with the understanding that I would always be alone and scrambling to survive.
Oddly enough, I've rarely felt vulnerable. Even after I left the corporate world with all its guarantees and benefits, I just plowed ahead the best I could. I wasn't necessarily making a beautiful picture out of my oil painting set, but I took each step forward into (sometimes) hell and (sometimes) heaven with, I see now, outrageous courage. I had an inner compass, and I tried my best to follow it, and still am. And I've been free in a way that many people aren't.
Part of my weepiness is realizing just how vulnerable I have been all along, and just didn't know or feel it. Thirty years ago on leaving "time," I probably could and should have either conformed with another similar situation, or crawled into a cave and never come out. When I think of all the steps I have safely taken all these years, I almost literally swoon now. Isn't it strange that my dad's inheritance was a level of courage that perhaps a more loving childhood might never have formed? The biggest journey ahead of me will be restoring some of that day-to-day courage. It's going to be baby steps, baby steps.
I've come to understand that part of the fallout from having a dad who is incapable of love, is that you simply never learn what it is like to be the center of someone's world. The message, while probably unspoken, from that first moment, was, "You are on your own, little baby." Yes, I had a roof over my childhood head and food on the table, even perks like a private school and a family summer home. But I finally understand that these were not done to care for us, they were done so that he would appear to be conforming to a WASP norm. My mom, bless her, must also have learned that caring for a narcissist meant that emotionally, he was all there was. I don't think I have ever felt on a heart level what it was like to be cherished, protected, a focus of love and attention. I have just attacked life with the understanding that I would always be alone and scrambling to survive.
Oddly enough, I've rarely felt vulnerable. Even after I left the corporate world with all its guarantees and benefits, I just plowed ahead the best I could. I wasn't necessarily making a beautiful picture out of my oil painting set, but I took each step forward into (sometimes) hell and (sometimes) heaven with, I see now, outrageous courage. I had an inner compass, and I tried my best to follow it, and still am. And I've been free in a way that many people aren't.
Part of my weepiness is realizing just how vulnerable I have been all along, and just didn't know or feel it. Thirty years ago on leaving "time," I probably could and should have either conformed with another similar situation, or crawled into a cave and never come out. When I think of all the steps I have safely taken all these years, I almost literally swoon now. Isn't it strange that my dad's inheritance was a level of courage that perhaps a more loving childhood might never have formed? The biggest journey ahead of me will be restoring some of that day-to-day courage. It's going to be baby steps, baby steps.
Monday, January 14, 2019
Who am I?
It is so interesting that, on the heels of ten days or so of truly being aligned with myself in this place that I love, I would literally fall through a portal into a new reality. We are so defined by what we do, aren't we? And almost everything that I do, or have done in the past, has involved my right hand/arm. Not being able to write properly, type properly (this'll be short!), draw, carry, is like being a different person; even the staples of womankind through the centuries and my guesthood -- doing dishes, sweeping, mopping or vacuuming floors, errands -- all are out of bounds for the moment. I've been humbled knowing that there are so many people who may live entire lifetimes or parts of their lives unable to do these things. How overwhelmed I am by the good fortune of 62 years of mainly unimpeded activity, travel, work, carrying, driving, self-expression! But even I have had some moments of despair...when I can't even write in my journal, who am I? If for even a somewhat limited time I cannot do the things that have defined me, who am I?
I had to stop and remind myself, what can I do right now? I can just barely get dressed and do basic self-care. I can walk. I can think. I can sing. I can smile. I can see. I can love. I am grateful.
Of those things, who am I? Well, hopefully on my best days, these are also who I am. I hope most of the time that I am love. I am song. I am vision and wisdom and as much happiness as I can find within. Those things will presumably always be "me" no matter what I can or cannot "do."
I had to stop and remind myself, what can I do right now? I can just barely get dressed and do basic self-care. I can walk. I can think. I can sing. I can smile. I can see. I can love. I am grateful.
Of those things, who am I? Well, hopefully on my best days, these are also who I am. I hope most of the time that I am love. I am song. I am vision and wisdom and as much happiness as I can find within. Those things will presumably always be "me" no matter what I can or cannot "do."
Saturday, January 5, 2019
All I'll Say
All I'll say is that I learned more about love this Christmas than I expected.
En route to Gloucester Cathedral Christmas Eve midnight mass, I fell and ended up having a cast put on my arm rather than singing carols in that glorious space. Medical personnel with Santa caps focused on getting me well cared for, and I felt some feeling of being the babe in the manger myself, if it's OK to say that! And in the ensuing week, I've learned to be more willing than I ever have to receive love, kindness, caring. So many have always been kind, please don't misunderstand me. But it has always been my instinct to jump up, do dishes, clean, and of course be able to at least do my own basic caring. To receive help with even those things is so new. I am profoundly grateful for the beautiful, wise angels and teachers at my side and on this path.
Yesterday I finally got to the cathedral, which has had a lot of scaffolding removed since my last visit. The sun was out, cold but bright. The building's exterior and interior were a bright honey color that I didn't remember. I cried almost nonstop for an hour, seeing the stunning Ivor Gurney, Finzi, Howells, Brewer and Wesley stained glass windows in a lady chapel so warmly beautiful I was transported. A quiet noon said service in the adjacent chapel was accompanied by the background babble of visitors, not the choir, and that was brilliant. The sun poured in the modern blue stained glass window and love was there too. I don't know what it is, but English cathedrals generally, and this one particularly, vibrate at my wavelength. I marvelled at how right it may have been to see the space in the sun, this way.
Life seems so poignant and precious to me right now. I'm trying hard not to look back or forwards. It's rather literally impossible for me to make of this trip what I expected to, so I'm in the moment "big time" and radically letting go. All I'll say is that with events conspiring like this, who needs a new year's resolution?
En route to Gloucester Cathedral Christmas Eve midnight mass, I fell and ended up having a cast put on my arm rather than singing carols in that glorious space. Medical personnel with Santa caps focused on getting me well cared for, and I felt some feeling of being the babe in the manger myself, if it's OK to say that! And in the ensuing week, I've learned to be more willing than I ever have to receive love, kindness, caring. So many have always been kind, please don't misunderstand me. But it has always been my instinct to jump up, do dishes, clean, and of course be able to at least do my own basic caring. To receive help with even those things is so new. I am profoundly grateful for the beautiful, wise angels and teachers at my side and on this path.
Yesterday I finally got to the cathedral, which has had a lot of scaffolding removed since my last visit. The sun was out, cold but bright. The building's exterior and interior were a bright honey color that I didn't remember. I cried almost nonstop for an hour, seeing the stunning Ivor Gurney, Finzi, Howells, Brewer and Wesley stained glass windows in a lady chapel so warmly beautiful I was transported. A quiet noon said service in the adjacent chapel was accompanied by the background babble of visitors, not the choir, and that was brilliant. The sun poured in the modern blue stained glass window and love was there too. I don't know what it is, but English cathedrals generally, and this one particularly, vibrate at my wavelength. I marvelled at how right it may have been to see the space in the sun, this way.
Life seems so poignant and precious to me right now. I'm trying hard not to look back or forwards. It's rather literally impossible for me to make of this trip what I expected to, so I'm in the moment "big time" and radically letting go. All I'll say is that with events conspiring like this, who needs a new year's resolution?
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