Martyrdom?
Clearly, martyrdom is no laughing matter, but on the other hand...
I have a friend who is the funniest person on the planet. She's the kind of person you never spend time with when you have a full bladder, because it is inevitable that she will make you laugh so hard that you find yourself in great danger of needing clean underwear. Actually, I have several friends like that, but I digress (imagine that, wouldja?).
Anyway my friend used to tell us how her mother (I think) would reply to some whiny comment made in her general vicinity by saying, "Yeah, Foxe's Book of Martyrs Page 17 ." Which I never understood, being unschooled in the ways of the early Protestant Reformers. Or maybe it was her mother who was on Page 17? Details, nevermind.
All that to say, I think I might be on page 954!
As I get older, I realize that I have a strong tendency to do things the hardest way possible and with the most sacrifice on my part. And to what end, exactly? Like in this sublime piece of music on which I am currently working, the final Act III trio from Richard Strauss' Der Rosenkavalier (I'm telling you, you can hear it live, live I say, on Sunday afternoon at 5...).
Strauss was fiendishly brilliant. Wrote lines that can make you weep to see them on the page, let alone performed. He was also really good at the big picture. To wit: on paper, a lot of the phrases he wrote go on for ... days. The key word here is "on paper." Apparently, according to my coaches and conductors, no one actually sings them that way in performance. Not even the iron-lunged Renée Fleming, my personal goddess du chant du moment.
Without that knowledge however, Ms. Page 954, 2006 beats her head against hard surfaces trying to make the line happen the way it looks, at the expense of the beauty intended therein. In short, a breath martyr!
But I'm a work in progress, and I take grace where I find it (or more likely than not, where it is thrust upon me). And with it the freedom that comes from knowing that things are even more beautiful and fulfilling when you can enjoy them whilst they are happening, rather than worrying about outcomes.
A musing on another topic (since I skipped Wednesday. And technically Thursday). What must it be like to have a visceral affirmation of the importance of something in your life? I don't know that I've ever experienced that. Likely because I have not yet, for any reason (please God), been deprived of anything I truly found important.
I have another young friend who is on a sabbatical from her music studies. I met her some time ago, after this sabbatical had been underway for a while. We discussed her musical inclinations and the fact that at some point she wanted to get back to them, but there was no urgency to the conversation.
Today, unbeknownst to me, she happened by during a dress rehearsal I was conducting. I took an unscheduled break and saw her there, visibly upset. We took a moment to chat and she said something to the effect of, "I just miss singing so much!" Her reaction to the musicmaking was a clear, gut-deep indicator that something integral to her being was lacking in her life.
For a moment I was─ I don't know─ envious? Assured? Awed? I presume that the things I do/am/have are what really keep me going, but how do I know? How do any of us know? Maybe in my case it's the little affirmations (ok, sometimes not so little) that let me know I'm on the right path. I have to admit though, a quasi-Damascus-Road-kind-of-moment would certainly make things easier!
I have a friend who is the funniest person on the planet. She's the kind of person you never spend time with when you have a full bladder, because it is inevitable that she will make you laugh so hard that you find yourself in great danger of needing clean underwear. Actually, I have several friends like that, but I digress (imagine that, wouldja?).
Anyway my friend used to tell us how her mother (I think) would reply to some whiny comment made in her general vicinity by saying, "Yeah, Foxe's Book of Martyrs Page 17 ." Which I never understood, being unschooled in the ways of the early Protestant Reformers. Or maybe it was her mother who was on Page 17? Details, nevermind.
All that to say, I think I might be on page 954!
As I get older, I realize that I have a strong tendency to do things the hardest way possible and with the most sacrifice on my part. And to what end, exactly? Like in this sublime piece of music on which I am currently working, the final Act III trio from Richard Strauss' Der Rosenkavalier (I'm telling you, you can hear it live, live I say, on Sunday afternoon at 5...).
Strauss was fiendishly brilliant. Wrote lines that can make you weep to see them on the page, let alone performed. He was also really good at the big picture. To wit: on paper, a lot of the phrases he wrote go on for ... days. The key word here is "on paper." Apparently, according to my coaches and conductors, no one actually sings them that way in performance. Not even the iron-lunged Renée Fleming, my personal goddess du chant du moment.
Without that knowledge however, Ms. Page 954, 2006 beats her head against hard surfaces trying to make the line happen the way it looks, at the expense of the beauty intended therein. In short, a breath martyr!
But I'm a work in progress, and I take grace where I find it (or more likely than not, where it is thrust upon me). And with it the freedom that comes from knowing that things are even more beautiful and fulfilling when you can enjoy them whilst they are happening, rather than worrying about outcomes.
A musing on another topic (since I skipped Wednesday. And technically Thursday). What must it be like to have a visceral affirmation of the importance of something in your life? I don't know that I've ever experienced that. Likely because I have not yet, for any reason (please God), been deprived of anything I truly found important.
I have another young friend who is on a sabbatical from her music studies. I met her some time ago, after this sabbatical had been underway for a while. We discussed her musical inclinations and the fact that at some point she wanted to get back to them, but there was no urgency to the conversation.
Today, unbeknownst to me, she happened by during a dress rehearsal I was conducting. I took an unscheduled break and saw her there, visibly upset. We took a moment to chat and she said something to the effect of, "I just miss singing so much!" Her reaction to the musicmaking was a clear, gut-deep indicator that something integral to her being was lacking in her life.
For a moment I was─ I don't know─ envious? Assured? Awed? I presume that the things I do/am/have are what really keep me going, but how do I know? How do any of us know? Maybe in my case it's the little affirmations (ok, sometimes not so little) that let me know I'm on the right path. I have to admit though, a quasi-Damascus-Road-kind-of-moment would certainly make things easier!
posted by YankeeHobbit | 11:48 PM
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