Bill’s Big Diamond Blog noted this frightening bit of news about the struggle inside the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Check it out. It’s pretty un-nerving. I’m beginning to really smell a foul propaganda machine stench oozing into everything; academia, the media, government, corporate structure, the legal system.
Universe as God, Words as Shadows
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Knowing you as my father and as a friend is comforting reassurance; that I might someday turn out as cool and level headed and wise as you.
———————————————-
Can we know what God is if we don’t know what the universe is? Or can we only know God the same way we know the far reaches of the universe? By study, observation, intuition, speculation, conjecture. To me the universe is everything, stars, galaxies, nebulae, all time. But how far out does it go? Does it end somewhere? Could that universe be inside something else? Could our universe be a grain of sand on a beach with billions of other grains, each a universe? And could that beach, with glassy waves which lick your ears under a shimmering caramel moon, be waiting forever, with ageless answers, in case you are listening?
The day held me in its gaze
and swayed me lazily
to a quiet place
where the shadows receded.
Can God Lick your Ears With Ageless Answers?
Sonya the Papillon Princess
A dog is a very personal choice. It’s no wonder dogs end up looking or acting like their owners. That’s who choses them, usually. So what was I thinking when I decided this was the best dog for Mom? My mother is glamorous. I decided she would enjoy a small, easy going, quiet, fairly low maintenance dog, who is also glamorous. Of course, I didn’t stop to think she might have an opinion. Actually, I did stop. I got her opinion, and decided I knew better. I still think I do. But maybe not in this case. It remains to be seen.
Papillons are sweet, faithful, easy to care for and a healthy breed overall. They are a type of Spaniel, with a little Chihuahua mixed in. So they are sensitive. This one in particular is a bit wimpy and clingy. But to give her credit, she’s also not settled yet. The poor thing was ripped from her only home and it trying to adjust to my house and life. (I’m keeping her until I can take her out to Mom next week) But clearly, as she settles, she’s becoming a princess and loves attention.
I didn’t want to pay the full price for a pure bred dog, and I had trouble finding a suitable “rescued” dog, which often have severe health or behavior issues. I wanted a small dog, so Mom could take it in the car, and fly with it in a carry on bag. It had to be a lap dog. (my decision, not Moms)
Mom wanted a Corgi, since we had had one years back and she loved that dog. Why didn’t I just go for the Corgi? I don’t know. I thought I knew better. (still do) And I thought a larger dog would be less cuddly. Maybe Mom doesn’t want cuddly. Maybe that was my preference. So far, Mom’s going along with it, for my sake, going along with a cuddly, cute, attention loving, quiet, adorable, lap dog. Hmmm! Sounds like a rough compromise…
I picked out a nice, quiet, sweet, two year old female Pap. Her owner bred them for shows and this one had a small knee problem, so she was selling it. Sonya is quiet and obedient. Quiet is important, since my sister warned me she wouldn’t be happy with a yappy dog. (my sister lives, with her husband, in a basement apartment at my mother’s house) She has her flute teaching studio at the house, and doesn’t want a yappy dog.
So this little Pap seems perfect. Only Mom is still not sure. She wanted a Corgi. Mom’s indecision is understandable, too, since this is an important companion choice for her. But I had already committed to this dog. So I convinced her to try it. We’ve all been stressed. Mom, because she’s unsure about this. My sister, because she has a cat and doesn’t want a yappy dog. I’ve been very stressed, partly because I finally realized my blatant mistake, partly because I thought I had made the right choice (and still do), partly because I had already gone through the trouble of finding a pretty good dog.
Now I realize more clearly how the personality of the dog may not be the best companion for Mom. Sonya is a princess, and likes to be spoiled. I think Mom really wanted a more independent, maybe more masculine dog. (do you get the feeling I’m a bit confused? or perhaps in denial?) I am resigned to what ever she decides. I acknowledge my shortsightedness and failure to listen. Perhaps she’ll end up really liking this little Pap. She’s going to try Sonya for awhile and then we’ll see.
I have a feeling they will be inseparable in a few weeks, but don’t tell Mom that.
Hemmed in Freedom
I’ve been blogging about three months now, since the middle of March. I’m feeling trapped, like I’ve cornered myself in some abstract corner, in an attempt to present something “high quality” rather than ruminate freely as in a semi-formal journal, which was my original intent.
Part of the problem is that I wonder if people enjoy reading what I write. Yes, I want to journalize, but I also want to write something worth reading. But that can also hamper freedom. Just as I wrote in this post about performing live, if a performance is too planned, it can become superficial, hollow. Ironically, it is a challenge to be focused and free at the same time, to structure free expression, hone it, tailor it, hem it in, without stifling it. How do I find the rhythm of my soul, that elusive vibration, to express here on these pages, without smothering it in trying?
Funny thing is, now that I’m commenting more on other blogs, I’m actually finding my ruminating “voice” there instead of here. And I love how the comments are commented by the original author. So some interesting strings develop with that interaction. All this is new to me. New and rewarding.
So, in the spirit of free flow expression, forgive me if I blab a bit, but I need to unclog the pipes, get the fresher juices flowing.
I’ve been under a lot of stress recently. I am not very skilled at managing multiple stresses. My job as a performer is difficult enough, but I have been on this search committee for a new music director here, and I have been put somewhat unwittingly in a hot seat. What I thought would be an artistic search turned into an arena of political struggle from within the orchestra. I became a representative of one of the sides. I am not a political person, but I have to stand for something. So I knew I had to follow through. I did my best. The power struggle arose in the form of certain candidates being strongly supported by one faction and other candidates by another faction. I braced for a draining struggle. Luckily, the situation became a lot easier for me when a late candidate demonstrated such powerful charisma and quality in his conducting that the orchestra was unified behind him.
But the problem still exists, in the form of resistance from non musician members of the search committee. They claim he will be hard to sell, he will have trouble raising money for the orchestra, that he cannot just be a good conductor. You see, the unifying candidate is Japanese, and is not fluent in English. But he gets his point across fine, and knows how to work a crowd, has a sense of humor, and communicates magnificently through his music making.
Now here’s the part that’s going to make you guffaw. Those members who are opposed to this candidate have not even seen or met him. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is what I’m up against. If these people had been on the committees of the New York Philharmonic, they would have eliminated Leonard Bernstein before they even met him because they heard he was gay. Or the Boston Symphony would not have hired Seigi Ozawa because of his English. How absurd! It doesn’t matter if the conductor is a genius, if he will do great things for the orchestra, if ALL the musicians are united behind him (which is a miracle in itself). Never mind that the political rift in the orchestra could be healed. No, those are irrelevant details. No, despite never having set eyes on this person, never having heard his music making, never having heard his cute, charming sense of humor, no, these dissenters just KNOW he won’t work, period. Pre-judging. Prejudiced.
So we have to wait until we can see him again for those presumptuous dissenters to decide. I’m all for having them visit with him. But I fear nothing will change a mind so closed.
It’s disheartening to see things like this. I guess it’s just part of the “real” world. I haven’t given up. I plan to work on those members, trying gently to show them what the musicians have seen, hopefully using non-confrontational approaches. If I believe in what I am supporting. Hopefully, using my strong belief in the positive effects this candidate can have, I can sway them. That’s a lot of hope!
In all cases; in performance, in blogging, in politics, it’s a fine line, a razor’s edge, which offers quality freedom. Freedom without limitations is basically chaos, anarchy, a dream. The opposite is a stifling prison, communism, fear, living death. The middle road is hemmed in freedom; freedom within one’s given situation, goodness within anarchy, structure within chaos, creation from destruction, hope within fear.
The Drummer by the Sea
A drummer sits by the sea
listening to the hollow, holy undulation
of his mother’s clock
breathing against his face, his heart-
beating a different rhythm, a
syncopation, a duet.
He calls to her and
she answers.
She answers as he calls; he listens
to his own voice in the waves, her
rhythm,
his heartbeat, their duet…
the drummer hears
a whisper inside his ear,
(He took his inner voice to be
Hers.)
"Why," s’he said, "do I feel so lonely?
We haven’t been together in a long time.
Why, in order to be together
must we first be apart?"
S’he listened and heard and relaxed and
came together and came apart: together, apart.
S’he felt the swelling of their breath,
rising, falling, like the waves on the beach,
like the rising and falling of
their body,
the air,
the day,
the night,
and their rhythms;
soothing,
drumming beats,
of the sea, of the waves,
the waves and the foam,
and the crunchy, cool sand
and their feet titillated by it,
on it, off it, on, off.
billions of grains, ancient mountains,
crumbled empires,
fallen spires,
and the timeless sea, giver and taker,
and the dark lurkings underneath,
fear giving breath to joy.