This has been a complicated time for me and a number of people I know and love, and because I am in some ways an emotional sponge, I end up carrying around other people's weighty stories, which often gets me confused. Let's see what was going on before things got complicated ... I was motoring through a second draft of my memoir so I could send it to another wise writer to read and give me feedback. Crunching through those 220 pages was tough at times but I plugged away and completed it. Done for now with version 2. I meditated regularly and learned a new kind of diaphragmatic breathing that creates more space in the body and brings calm, I kept up regular piano practice and had a thoughtful lesson with my wise young teacher last Friday. I visited a few doctors to talk about a painful tendonitis in my ankle, hoping I'd get reassurance that the affliction would eventually pass (like everything else). Ah, the non-stop tending we must do when we are aging... I repeat this to people and try to act as though I find it curious and amusing, but deep down I find I'm out of sorts and discouraged. I so want to be brave and accept adversity, and often feel I lack the tools. And I wonder a lot if it's like that for everyone else... I am still spending more time alone than I'd like, but when my ankle was acting up and I really needed to stay off my feet, that of course provided a good excuse to sink back on the couch at home with some yummy delivered food and a good few episodes of MASH on Netflix. It's pretty easy for me to retreat like this.
When I'm not watching something on the tube, I'm often thinking about my oldest daughter who is going through a very tough time with estrangement from her daughter and an old friend, and my old friend from the 70's who is facing a big move and the giving up of an old and beloved home in order to find a simpler way to live. These two women - one 50 and the other 80 - are suffering these days and I see myself wanting to make a difference while I know my power to do so is limited. I let go of daughter #1 a very long time ago, or at least I thought I did, and she has been hugely resourceful and forged a rewarding purposeful life; she has kept me at a distance often so that she can work out her problems on her own because that has been her nature. But now it's becoming harder for her. My friend is a highly intelligent and stoic woman who rarely asks for help, and yet I see fatigue and worry in her face each time we get together and talk about our lives. The themes repeat themselves over and over ... our families, the books we're reading, maybe the news and politics ... with the unspoken thoughts lurking under the surface.
For the last few days I've been listening to Bach here at the Carmel Bach Festival, closing my eyes and following the notes of the cellos, violins, the harpsichord, the basses, and lutes, and feeling at home again. JS Bach brought the world an unusual new musical form called the fugue, and this morning when I sat in the beautiful old Carmel Mission listening to a series of preludes and fugues for the organ, I had this dreamy notion that the fugue form is a lot like our life. The different voices from the organ were dancing in counterpoint, and I tried to follow them in the cool dark church. It was like trying to track the images in a kaleidoscope in a way. I am currently learning one of his simpler fugues for the piano, and what I keep coming back to is that this is a tough job for someone like myself who never could juggle or multi-task. It is hard, and I am going to learn it (hear the intellectual imperative here?). In the fugue, a "subject" is introduced in the beginning, and repeated in a mind-tingling counterpoint by a number of different voices as the piece moves forward. A response to the subject follows and is woven into the composition, also in more than one voice. What makes Bach a genius is his ability to build this composition so seamlessly that you hear BOTH the totality of the voices and each individual voice clearly and at the same time. Interestingly, I have learned that there is a whole other kind of "fugue" that signifies a psychological disorder in which a person loses awareness of his or her identity when fleeing from a familiar environment. In a strange and perhaps obscure way, this definition relates to the musical form (you have to give up first subject to take on the next or offer the response ... identity has to be relinquished ... you cannot hold on).
Both of the above definitions make me think of our journeys through life. As a child, we are on the receiving end of a "subject" (or subjects) handed to us by parents and relations, those multiple voices, and of course there is our response to the subject that follows. As we go through life a multitude of subjects arise, and we carry them with us in our bodies and minds as we grow up. We respond and we voice our own subjects. While I worked at fathoming and responding to the subjects handed down to me, such as "be seen and not heard," or "be a good girl," the themes that I gave voice to as a girl, such as "I need to know the truth," "I need to be heard," "I want to be loved" often met with no response, and so the piece of music lacked harmony and solidity. Later in life, I believe we modify the themes and create our own, and cast the music in a different "key," perhaps. I think this happens when we have a clearer sense of self, and we cease reacting so much to those around us. We carry the profound old subjects like: love and connection, doing no harm, and being of value in the world, but we come to understand those in new and interesting ways. Many of us have also had times in our lives when we run away from home and temporarily forget who we are, where the only way to see ourselves more clearly is to leave the familiar behind and perceive ourselves in a foreign context. My memoir was born from that understanding.
This book has shown me the "subjects" or themes of my life more clearly, and allowed me to get closer to my life, into the dark corners and forgotten spaces so I can see them. I used to think it looked like a mosaic or kaleidoscope, but now it appears to me more as a tapestry, with the different strands of "through line," or "subject" creating an interesting colorful piece of fabric. I'd also like to think now of the journey being played out as a multi-voiced fugue with its varying voices speaking their own truths and answering each other and sometimes coming together in stunning harmony.
Both of the above definitions make me think of our journeys through life. As a child, we are on the receiving end of a "subject" (or subjects) handed to us by parents and relations, those multiple voices, and of course there is our response to the subject that follows. As we go through life a multitude of subjects arise, and we carry them with us in our bodies and minds as we grow up. We respond and we voice our own subjects. While I worked at fathoming and responding to the subjects handed down to me, such as "be seen and not heard," or "be a good girl," the themes that I gave voice to as a girl, such as "I need to know the truth," "I need to be heard," "I want to be loved" often met with no response, and so the piece of music lacked harmony and solidity. Later in life, I believe we modify the themes and create our own, and cast the music in a different "key," perhaps. I think this happens when we have a clearer sense of self, and we cease reacting so much to those around us. We carry the profound old subjects like: love and connection, doing no harm, and being of value in the world, but we come to understand those in new and interesting ways. Many of us have also had times in our lives when we run away from home and temporarily forget who we are, where the only way to see ourselves more clearly is to leave the familiar behind and perceive ourselves in a foreign context. My memoir was born from that understanding.
This book has shown me the "subjects" or themes of my life more clearly, and allowed me to get closer to my life, into the dark corners and forgotten spaces so I can see them. I used to think it looked like a mosaic or kaleidoscope, but now it appears to me more as a tapestry, with the different strands of "through line," or "subject" creating an interesting colorful piece of fabric. I'd also like to think now of the journey being played out as a multi-voiced fugue with its varying voices speaking their own truths and answering each other and sometimes coming together in stunning harmony.
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