Be Still, My Soul…

“Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.” (Psalm 116: 7)

How sweet those words have been today. Especially in those surreal, fragile, aching moments. And at some point I found myself humming, having dug up an old tune from somewhere (probably my childhood)… And my mind sang gentle words to my soul and heavy heart:

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev’ry change he faithful remain.
Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heav’nly friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide thy future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,
And all is darkened in the vale of tears,
Then shalt thou better know his love, his heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay
From his own fullness all he takes away.

Be still, my soul: the hour is hast’ning on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

–Katharina von Schlegel (*1697)
(to the tune of Sibelius’s Finlandia Hymn)

Alleluia

Maybe some day I shall sing once more; I shall sing “Alleluia” at sunset. Lord, open my throat & give me long breath – let me sing.

“Ah, yes, that’s what it feels like to be alive,” I thought, as I listened to the little snippet of Eric Whitacre‘s Alleluia (posted on YouTube by him a short while ago). I felt an Autumn breeze & saw leaves dancing on it, playing with the sun’s late afternoon rays, even as I listened… & I remembered what it was like to make beautiful music. What a gift! If only I had treasured it in the right proportion –  perhaps then my throat would not have been shut & I would still be singing today.

And what exactly would the right proportion have been? Well, I’m looking at Augustine’s theory of loves as it presents itself in his De civitate Dei. In it, he puts forward that the wo/man of God gives loving primacy to God, who loved us first, and who directs our affections for created things in the proper proportion. This does not come naturally to humankind. In pride, we set ourselves up in God’s seat, cleaving ourselves to mutable things (misdirected loves) & setting ourselves up for disappointment, when they fail to bring about the peace of mindbodyandsoul to which we naturally strain. But God, in love & at great cost to himself, makes it possible for humankind to find peace in Him. Now I know I called this “Augustine’s theory of loves,” but it is a thoroughly biblical paradigm. “This is love,” writes the apostle John, “not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins” (1 John 4:10). And having done that, God has made it possible for me to love Him… & to love the gift of song proportionately. Alleluia.

It’s strange that just listening to some of Whitacre’s meditation on the word “alleluia” managed to elicit all of this… this emotion… this memory of what it is that God created me to do — that He created me to sing! Now, before my fellow Whitacre fans (“whitacrites”? would that take off, d’you think?) haul me over the coals for taking his work & intentions, & twisting them to suit my own blogging needs: I know that he does not share my views, & I respect that. Still, let me quote Debussy, to legitimise the forgone reflection: ”Music is a free art; boundless as the wind, the sky the sea!” Let us not, out of our admiration for the artist, seek to bind his art to the story it was born with.

Here’s the video that reminded of one of my “sparks“… that brought very specific memories of feeling alive flooding back:

“[...] man, this part of your creation, wishes to praise you. You arouse him to take joy in praising you, for you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” (Augustine’s Confessions 1.1.)

Maybe some day I shall sing once more; I shall sing “Alleluia” at sunset. Lord, open my throat & give me long breath – let me sing.
Alleluia. Hallelujah. halălūyāh

Letting go

Note: this is a “letting go” post. It needs to be set free for sanity & closure’s sake. Read at your peril. A “proper” post will follow after 1 November.

Found in my thesis notebook:

Infernal buzzing,
buzzing
thoughts of you…
Thoughts I would hand over,
     if the hurt
         were not rivalled
               by their sweetness.

I’ve realised that those sweet thoughts of Youwillneverknowwhoyouare always, like aspertame, left behind bitterness & dissatisfaction. So I’ve opted for the honey-sweetness of the Gospel.

Infernal buzzing,
buzzing
thoughts of you…
Thoughts I would hand over,
     if the hurt
         were not rivalled
               by their sweetness.

Who will help me, so that You will come into my heart & inebriate it, to the end that I may [...] embrace You, my One Good?
Lord, You arouse me to take joy in praising You, for You have made me for Yourself, & my heart is restless until it rests in You.
-Augustine of Hippo

In the Room of Silence (Raum der Stille) – Berlin, 29. June 2008

Silence. (Deafened by the noise of an altogether sinful heart.)

Lord God,
fill Your servant with Your Word & Spirit
so that Your voice alone would permeate this heart.

Silence. (Filled with thankful praise.)

A cello in the streets of Kinshasa…

This post is an edited amalgamation of a number of Facebook posts about a photograph that took my breath away: “Josephine Mpongo of the the Kimbanguiste Symphony Orchestra practises the cello in the group’s rehearsal space [in Kinshasa, DRC]” – courtesy of the Guardian (UK) Eyewitness series. Photograph by Andrew McConnell:

Josephine Mpongo practises the cello in an orchestra rehearsal space in Kinshasa

Ah, the power of a beautiful image! But do not think for even a moment that it merely speaks to the romantic in me (although it most certainly does!). The contrasts in this photograph also threaten to tear my heart even as it keeps time within me. For the fact that she plays the cello in an orchestra (has had access to music lessons & has time to make art), immediately places her among the elite, in a country that has known the most horrendous wars & is still reeling. Apparently, the DRC has the second lowest nominal GDP per capita (2010 statistic) despite being inordinately rich in natural resources. And in the east, where fighting continues despite the official end of the Second Congo War in 2002 (2003?), “the prevalence and intensity of rape and other sexual violence is described as the worst in the world” (Wikipedia). Of course music has the power to lift the spirits of those who have access to it (& the fact that the orchestra’s rehearsal space is right among the people, well… Wow! Talk about bringing music to the masses!). Still, I wonder what real effect “high art” has within a context where many families have little guarantee of a decent meal at the end of every day? *sigh*
“It must have some effect!” screams my artistic soul, as it scrambles – in this anxious & frustrated moment – to find the rhythm & key of that part of me crying out for gender equity… for social justice… for an end to the frustration of this fallen creation… for the establishment of Christ’s eternal rest & peace! *breathe* “It must do…”
And then I tear my eyes away from the bustling streets of Kinshasa, to look at Josephine Mpongo. And I see a woman who, if she thought about it, might express a hope that the beauty of that gift called music would radiate, to warm many more hearts than just the “elite” (at least I hope so!).  Does that make sense, dear Reader? I know I’m projecting here, and I’m probably overthinking things (yes, I’m definitely over-analysing this!). But if you’ve ever been moved to tears, dancing, moshing, shouting, singing or to deep relaxation by music, you’ll understand the power it’s been endowed with. Shakespeare put it like this, in the mouth of Lorenzo in The Merchant of Venice (act 5, scene 1):

[...] do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 

Oh, I do pray that her art (& the art of others) might have some small part in re-shaping  a now traumatised national culture. I pray that we would move away from the silly notion of l’art pour l’art, & see musicians (et al) trying to find a way to make at least a small difference…. *sigh* again, I wonder how much sense I’m making… I’ll give this some more thought, but I just had to get this out of my system…

Woordeprentjie / Gedig(?)

Honde blaf
in die vroë oggendure,
en daarmee
verdwyn my moed.
My hart onrustig, kruip ek in my bedjie weg
en hoop dat die
lig –
wat op hierde diep, swart
donker 
moet volg
– soos vuur,
die bose skadus
in my buurt, in my huisie, in my kamer, in my kop
sal maak wegsluip.

So even though I’m English-speaking, the most honest words seem to come to me in Afrikaans (odd, considering that Afrikaans walks out of my mouth with the funniest gate… more like a limp!). These ones popped into my head (very early) on 17 January 2011, after a day of dealing with the Bell’s Palsy had begun to set on the previous day.

It feels like this needs considerably more work (typography, words, word order etc.) . I’ve put it here, because I neeeeeeed to set something loose, or else I’ll lose my nerve! *sigh* I suspect Brene Brown’s TEDtalk on the power of vulnerability might have something to do with this little outburst.

- amy lydia

Whitacre: “The River Cam”

Follow the hyperlinks to an excerpt from Eric Whitacre’s new work for cello & string orchestra, “The River Cam” (with  the manuscript). It reminded me of that feeling I get when I recall very old, very sweet memories…

The River Cam (Eric Whitacre)

I’m sure that if I should ever behold the River Cam myself, I shall recall this music & feel quite at home.

(gediggie)

Ha! I finally have clarity about how to pair the photograph (Berlin, June 2008) with the words (Stellenbosch, August 2008). I suppose it’s because this feeling of standing on the brink of something i’m unable to express, but which simultaneously seems so very familiar, has returned… I don’t know.

Omdat dít is waaroor woorde struikel
                 En dit hiér is waar uitdrukking stop:

Positive pride… Elmo… The Goo Goo Dolls

Thought after overcoming the hysteria that accompanied finding this on YouTube:
There’s a fine line between being proud of one’s achievements & succumbing to the pull of hubris (i.e. being “filled with pride” – *sigh* what unfortuante lyrics).

Still… I love Elmo & the Goo Goo Dolls (yes, i did once convince myself that i would be “Mrs Rzeznik” some day… ah, the folly of youth!). So i really love this video! And besides… it’s perfectly okay to feel “really, really good… when you’ve done the best you could!” ♫ Let’s just keep the proper perspective as we raise our “busy little monsters”

Poseidon

Neptunbrunnen (Neptune Fountain), Berlin (28 June 2008)

Sun bursts through clouds
and Poseidon -
blinded
by the glory of the Creator,
shamed
by his own mortality -
sits atop his rotting clam.

Man sits,
proudly
admiring Poseidon’s trident spring,
blindly
basking in his own immortalising genius:

his own image moulded in copper, in bronze.

- amy lydia

I’ve been working on this one since 2008 (mainly playing around with words, order and “typography”). The fountain moved me to scribbling & playing the conspicuous, camera-wielding tourist (trying to capture some of the day’s mood, the detail etc… you know… the silliness that tries to immortalise things).
Posted here, because i’ve been looking forward to re-reading Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, which got me thinking about aestheticism again.