Return to The Moldau

 "Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it." ~ Norman Maclean

Today I listened to The Moldau, again.  It came about spontaneously but with purpose.  I have written about this beautiful, graceful classical piece before.  When I spoke of Music Nights a couple days ago, it was not to neglect the Classical.  It's just that the Classical fills a different kind of niche in my life, and typically not late at night.  (Late at night, particularly on the weekend, when I feel so inclined, tends to be occupied by music of the 60's and 70's.)

Grace.  That does indeed describe it.  Today it felt more poignant, sublimely reflecting life.

I've revisited, again, what I wrote about The Moldau several years ago.  Some is worth repeating here, in more than a link:

At the beginning, the awakening flow is virtually imperceptible, distinct elements joining together in a dance of potential.  You can literally hear how the quietly growing stream flows easily over the discrete rocks in its way, finding its playful path.  It's wonderful to listen to the gentle voice of streams at this stage - I could literally do so for hours.

Then the stream begins to grow.  As it gains in maturity, there is more sophisticated interaction with its surroundings, including the people who begin to appreciate its beauty and the gifts it brings.  There is mystery too as night falls, yet it flows undeterred by the darkness, the moonlight lending even greater beauty.

Then the channel narrows.  I know many rivers at this stage.  This is perhaps the most challenging part of the flow, yet also its most powerful.  If the flow truly desires to be free, the more discrete limitations placed upon it, the more the existing landscape attempts to channel its energy, the stronger it becomes.  There can even be a sense of peril perceived by those with whom it interacts, yet the flow of its creative purpose yearns to break free.

The rapids pass.  Liberation.  Stillness.  Hidden depths take form.  At this point, I must admit I become wistful following the river, as in Smetena's world it enters into a city, and I find myself rather sadly pondering its playful beginnings.  Yet one wonders if the multiple dimensions of this flow can actually exist in parallel.

In the end, Smetana's now majestic river lends the power of its full creative contribution to the Greater Unity of another, and one can imagine the Ocean that awaits.  One could say our beautiful little stream disappears, but does it really?

I could say more, but I'll say less.  My ponderings today as I listened weren't quite as intricately poetic, spiritual or deep.  Today I was thinking about innocence, poignancy and life.  And that was enough.

Waters in the Woods photo by Susan Larison Danz.

Remembering to Listen

 "Music is the universal language of mankind." ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

I don't quite understand it, though perhaps I should.  I have started more than one year with Classical music, and then as the year carries on, I listen less.  The same is true for writing, and often for reading.

Yes, of course, it's what happens in the days after January 1.  We return to the habits we choose.  I took a consciously longer walk today in the same place I walked in December.  I felt refreshed and energized.

So why don't we choose these things consistently all year?  Plenty is written about this by February, as predictable as gym parking lots emptying.  

It may be predictable and the typical way of things, but we can make the current January different, and the current year.  This is the January that matters - the one in the moment.  I aim to keep listening (and writing).

 

Winter photo by Susan Larison Danz

Somewhere Over the Rainbow....

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high..." 

~ The Wizard of Oz

Independent of the lyrics, this is what is playing on the radio as I begin to write, essentially the lullaby of which it speaks.  What a quiet joy it is to heed the gentle flow of late night Classical music, especially in these times.

Perhaps if we begin to breathe and listen very closely, we might begin to realize that what we seek is not up high at all.  It is not far away.  It exists without the seeking.  The Rainbow is within.

Music, Interwoven

“If I had my life to live over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week.”~ Charles Darwin

Some weeks ago my main cable TV connection went out.  The wiring into the home, I had been told last year, was not up to the standards of the latest equipment, but it had managed to work for a long while.  It actually worked fine until it was necessary to disconnect it briefly one day, and then it was never really the same again, and very soon, it gave out completely.  I decided not to reconnect it.

At first I missed it.

You see, somehow I had apparently stopped noticing the noise.  And when the noise was gone, it felt very strange.  The noise was actually generally the cable news spouting opinions about the state of the world - because "the news" isn't "the news" anymore and probably never was, but nowadays it doesn't even pretend to be "news" - it's shrill opinion, with a little "news" mixed in, no matter what the leanings of the "news station".

It turns out I didn't need it.  I learn what small amount of "actual news" I need to know in other ways.  Yes, I missed the old movies I liked to watch on TCM, but that's why we have libraries and DVDs.  And even those were tending to distract me.  So were other forms of talk, at the times I didn't need to hear it (as a radio host myself, I know helpful conversations have their place, but we need to personally respect what that place is).

I needed the Peace.  I needed the Stillness.

When family is here, we needed the Stillness, too, especially during dinner.  We used to be tempted to turn on the TV and generally watch "the news".

So what are evenings like now?

Musical.  Beautifully Musical. 

I realized one night it is shared, well beyond this home.  When I turn on the local Classical station, like I did on both Christmas and New Year's Eve (and Christmas and New Year's night, too, and all of the nights in between), it's like going to a concert.  (It's on at times during the day too, in between sometimes switching the station to Jazz.  It's on right now.)  When you are listening to a particularly good station, it has a way of surprising you - you come to realize the Music is lovingly woven together by the hosts, over time, night after night after night and day after day (the hosts are actually artists and composers themselves - that's what the weaving is).  You yourself become woven into the form.  It becomes inextricable.

There is something here that I've been missing.  I've felt I've known it before, and then somehow I lost it.  But I have found it, again. 

I'm reading more.  I'm feeling personally poetic (though I've been no stranger to poetry).   I'm even blogging right now (though I've been no stranger to writing).

It is changing me.  I feel it, already.  There is a new pattern.  There is a Divine majesty to it.  There is a kind of an unfolding.  It's like walking in Nature.  Perhaps it's just Beauty, and a kind of re-centering.

It is Still, even when not.

How is it the Music connects me even more to "the world" than "the news"?   Yet, exactly, so, it is.