Playland

Digital illo from a photo: PlaylandIs there a place that’s truly Playland for you? Where, if you need respite from reality for a while, you can be and let go of all your worries, can stop having to be the designated Grownup, can be rested and at peace—even for just a little while? A place that, if you only think of it with great concentration and meditate on its virtues, you can almost feel yourself there and come away from it renewed?

I have a few of these tucked away in my head, some of them real and some entirely made up from the candy-floss and butterfly eyelashes of my imagination. There are times when it’s almost too much to bear that I can’t be there in the physical world, so dreary or tragic-seeming that I can hardly even allow myself to think of my Playland wishes lest they, too, be tainted by the grim reality around me, but when I finally unclench myself enough to believe it’s okay to retreat to that safe and kindly haven, I find relief and renewal there. When I have resisted too long and at last revisit its splendors, there is always such sweet goodness in the moment of solace found in its fond welcome that I ask myself what you, too, should perhaps ask yourself, if you dare:

Why don’t I visit here more often?

It’s Never a Bad Time to…

…Stop.

Yesterday’s chip on my shoulder or rants in my pants should remain yesterday’s. I did enough whingeing and wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth to give vent to my current irritations with the American political landscape. Resulting, I fear, in my passing the irritants on to everybody else in my wake, for which I am only semi-sorry, as I was selfishly just plain unwilling to keep it bottled up any longer. A quick trip to your Happy Place will undoubtedly remove any of the gunk I splashed on you, and I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me even in my slightly unrepentant state. Wink-wink.

Meanwhile, I will shut up for the moment. Here: I’ll show you one of the photos that I took on our last part of the summer’s expeditions, a view that gave me great pleasure both on the day—our last of travel for the season, it happens—and on seeing it again now, as I’m busy editing the hundreds of shots taken from the start of the summer adventures in June through this photo. I’ll inundate you with more of those later. But now seems like a better time to just bask in a Happy Place of my own and share it with you. Peace.

Photo: Last Evening

On our last evening of 2015 summer travel, the view from our hotel room was a calming respite after a day of deluge. Rain and storms can be a joy, but the sweet promise of a rose-colored evening sky afterward brings a different kind of bliss.

I Hate Politics

There. I just came out and said it, right in front of everybody. Do I need to be clearer? I’ll say it again, more slowly this time: I…hate…politics.

Photo: Wisdom Sleeps

Is it my imagination, or has wisdom gone to sleep?

In general, I would like to never even think of myself as a person who Hates anything, but of course, that’d make me more than human, and I’m not. I certainly prefer not to be a person who dwells on my hatred of anything, let alone advertises it, but lately I’m finding it more difficult than usual to show that kind of restraint. A large part of my resolve (and I’m confident that this is a relatively common trait) is highly susceptible to external cues. I prefer to keep my head in the sand about things I don’t like, disapprove of, and fear, but that’s easier to do when those things aren’t pouring down on me as though run through a hose, and let’s face it, sand is water-permeable. The omnipresence of political nonsense on the American scene these days is drowning me.

Contemporary America is a highly politicized land. Everything is treated as political fodder and the subject of constant shouting, most especially those ideas to which we impute moral or ethical value, and the number of such ideas seems to grow exponentially by the minute. Additionally, we allow less and less room for anything other than Right and Wrong, Yes and No; everything worth discussing is a matter of polar opposites, and if Your answer is not like My answer, then it’s not only an obvious falsehood but patently evil and an attack on my person. Probably on my race, my culture, my sexual identity, my religion, my favorite football team, and my country. This is the environment in which all discussions must be arguments, and all arguments, wars.

If it weren’t real, it’d be hilarious.

The way we treat each other over differing viewpoints is bad enough. The way we treat each other over differing beliefs is worse. So if what began as a discussion about fiscal responsibility gets turned instantly into the idea that ‘Your Party’s thoughts on what’s wrong with the national economy and what would be better are Evil and My Party’s are Holy’—which has nothing to do with the demonstrable facts in the matter, let alone with either side offering any suggestion of how to fix what both could have agreed were the biggest problems—then why not just skip the discussion and appeals to reason, and get right on with punching each other’s lights out? And what should begin with the recognition of each other as fellow humans, all susceptible to our imperfections yet all, potentially, respected equals if not allies or friends, instead starts out with an assumption of all others as our inferiors, as damaged, or as willfully wicked. Even some of the most well-meaning politicians and their supporters often cross the line between being opposed to a practical, legal, or political precept and condemning all those who fail to fully agree with or support them as being immoral and/or stupid.

Photo: Masked Marauder

No matter how we may try to mask them, our true natures come out when politics get going.

I understand about passionately held beliefs and feelings. And I understand that many people in my country equate their passionately held beliefs and feelings, since these have often been arrived at by means of heartfelt thought and study or even, frequently, by what they are sincerely certain is some form of direct communication from a Higher Power, also know in their hearts and minds that these must be the governing directives of the nation. But as much as they might love to live in a theocracy, this country is officially not that, and in fact was founded in fear of and opposition to the idea that one specific religion should not only dominate but control or outlaw all others. As much as those whose beliefs and feelings tell them this should be officially a godless country might wish it so, that too would oppose the founding precept that one’s religious inclination, or leaning entirely away from religion, was not the defining factor that should govern the nation. I don’t hate religion or religious people, nor agnostics, nor atheists. What drives me crazy is people who confuse or conflate their moral systems with the functions and dysfunctions of American law. And that it gets in the way of what could so often be less hostile, more productive discourse.

Along with deistic religions and anti-religions, we are a country full of secular religions, which in my view (!) comprise not only the commonly referred to ones like ‘alternative belief systems,’ say, non-theistic philosophies, but also major social and educational and fiscal ideologies, and most especially, the pursuit of power and wealth. Whether the latter two come through the romanticized American ideal means of being honest, hard-working, and clever or by means of being successfully manipulative and lucky may again be the matter of much debate, most of it driven by our own takes on morality. But we give great leeway to those who achieve one or the other, and most of all, to those who garner both. And then we revile them for having risen too high.

Photo: Not to be a Big Pig about It...

I can’t help feeling like we’re a bunch of wild pigs, and I, the worst bore among them.

So we find ourselves in the throw-hat-into-ring stage of pre-election politics, as we get to do every four years in this country, and are more than ever inundated with that outpouring of purulent political sputum and venom that makes us all resemble some kind of hideous mutated hybrid, Homo sapiens Ultimate Fighting x Grand Theft Auto, rather than reasoning rhetoricians in debate and the pursuit of a nation’s better future. I suppose that it’s only natural we Americans should so commonly say that candidates for public office here have thrown their hats into the ring, given the phrase’s pugilistic origins. But it’s an unpleasant characteristic of ours, to say the least, that we seem to prefer combativeness to dialogue and action to diplomacy or contemplation.

We’re even expert at redefining all sorts of things; it makes it easier to take sides when we make sides. So not only do we have a supposed bipartisan political system—a concept problematic enough, if anyone actually intended to encourage and support any attempt at accurate representation of a wholly diversified national population—but the reigning parties are called Republican and Democratic. At face value, sensible enough, considering that this country is theoretically a constitutionally limited democratic republic, by definition. Yet neither party’s identity is fully congruent with the concept for which it’s named, nor perhaps was it ever so. The present version of each party is dramatically different from its own historic identity in many ways, too, because the national population’s majority and minority concerns and desires have continued to change over time. And don’t get me started on how different, how varied, are the definitions both parties and individuals give to words like Conservative and Liberal in pursuit of political ends. No worries; masses of us who are too lazy or foolish to examine the evidence or question the sources will simply fall into line and start passing on the same stuff as though it had any validity, spreading it on thickly and dispersing it far and wide.

Photo: All We, Like Sheep

Follow the herd, or you’re un-American!

What it all means to me is that my normal level of intense distaste for all things political ratchets up higher and higher with every moment that puts us closer to any election, but especially, to presidential ones. Every day seems to add another clownish, insecure, angry, prejudiced, reckless, self-aggrandizing, high-powered fool of one sort or another happy to thoughtlessly throw gasoline on the fires with word and action, without regard for all of us other clowns. Keep a good thought for all of us: this country, that we might somehow rise above all of our petty normalcies, and yes please, for me. That I don’t just go crazier than usual myself before all of this quiets down a bit again.

Photo: It's a Real Head-Scratcher

Am I crazy, or is this whole thing just a serious head-scratcher?

Fragile Beauty

We mortal beings are such a breakable bunch. The only part of my being that I can imagine ever neared perfection is my imperfection. It galls me that I am so intolerant of what I view as intolerance in others, so upset by the seeming obviousness of opposing viewpoints’ being illogical and insupportable, and so easily brought to a boil by anyone else’s anger or violence. It disappoints me that I am so easily cowed into silence when I see what seems the most flagrant of wrongs being committed against the defenseless, and I’m horrified by my inability to articulate what I believe is my wonderfully reasonable understanding of the facts of a case so as to persuade a single person of their validity.

The sorrow and fear I feel about this only intensify when I remember my suspicion that most other people experience some of these same phenomena. My failings are not entirely limited to me. It’s no wonder the world is such a complicated place.

Yet wisdom, love, justice, hope, and peace do seem to prevail at times. I know that every person alive will never agree on when and how those moments occur. Deeply studied scientific experiments and conclusions don’t convince everybody. Political, philosophical, and religious arguments, discussions, and declarations don’t convince everybody. The deepest emotional commitment and conviction, expressed in gloriously poetic prose, cannot convince everybody. We will still be weak, messy mortals. We will still be intolerant, illogical, angry, stubborn, and inarticulate. We will fall into these traps and sinkholes at the most inconvenient times, and escape from them only temporarily.

Yet wisdom, love, justice, hope, and peace do seem to prevail at times. We are incredibly imperfect and fragile, yes, but we can be beautiful, too, when we rise above our self-centered view of perfection and seek wisdom, love, hope, peace, and justice that should belong and apply not to only our own selves and favored persons but to everyone. If I can’t stoop to lift up someone else from the depths, maybe it’s because I need to reach up from my own depths to raise him. Maybe wisdom, love, justice, hope, and peace can prevail. Maybe they can begin today.Photo: Fragile Beauty

A Moment of Silence for…

…its own sake. Yes, because despite the huge number of worthy causes these days for which we’re encouraged to meditate for a mere moment, there are few causes more worthy than the good health and well-being that a brief pause for meditation in peaceful silence can help renew in any of us. There is so much need for our attention and efforts to be devoted, and in far larger and more frequent doses than an occasional moment of silence, to vast numbers of those worthy causes.Photo: Hermana's Hideaway

But nobody is fully prepared and equipped for even the least significant observation of those more meaningful causes’ pauses unless we permit ourselves, yes, even require ourselves, to rest and restore our own spirits. Part of my renewal and joy comes, to be sure, from surrounding myself with wonderful people just as I am able to do here. And another, very important, part comes from being able to step back, to lie low for just a little bit, and to be very, very glad that there’s room and time and silence available for me to bask in and be better able to cherish and rejoice in your good company. And to think about what little I can attempt to accomplish before the next such little escape.Photo: Secretive

Not in Our Stars

Methinks Shakespeare’s man Cassius, saying that ‘the fault…is not in our stars but in ourselves,’ spoke to a much broader expression of fault than that of his moment. I’ve seen many people apply this aphorism to support their private or corporate ambitions; to excuse their chosen ways of achieving that preferred brand of greatness, to defy what they thought was their fate or any law standing in their way, and certainly without much regard for the effects on others. If any god or philosophy can be interpreted to endorse, whether overtly or semantically, that an individual or group should hold privilege or power, why then, whatever it takes for that party to take over is entirely permissible, if not necessary. It’s a central reason, I think, for most human strife, whether petty divisions or all-out wars: my beliefs tell me that I should run the universe, and anything that stands in the way of that is wrong, evil, and must be stopped. Exterminated, if need be.

Digital illo: Not in Our Stars

Does claiming that wickedness is all an external construct absolve me?

What a frightening world. What a sad, ugly, and pusillanimous philosophy. I suspect that if we allow that we ourselves might be the cause of the problem, and look into our hearts and minds to see how we might turn, instead, toward finding and contributing toward the many possible solutions, we will find that our stars shine more brightly on us and our fellows all around this little hunk of terrestrial rock and water that we call home.

Digital illo: The Fault Lies Within

What if I can’t pretend to be anonymous and powerless? Maybe I do have both responsibility and, perhaps, even, some little tiny bit to offer…

NSFW / mature audiences only: the band Honningbarna‘s short video, filmed in Kabul in January, says through punk music and visual images that we might do well to pay less attention to fear-mongers and more to what makes us all more human, more happy to be together and alive. I think it’s a raucous, raw, rowdy, and ultimately mightily uplifting piece of admonishment.

Think about taking a look into the benevolent businesses/social causes mentioned at the end of the video, too, if you will: Skateistan and the producers of Afghan Mobile Mini Circus for Children. There is peace and goodness in the world, even in places we might never imagine. Perhaps we all need to expand our thinking beyond how we can bend the universe to our individual, personal benefits and toward larger things like a small child’s joy in juggling or the great youthful freedom and camaraderie found in a skate park.

Digital illo: We are the Circus

Maybe *I* am the clown in this circus…

Reverence for Beauty

Photo: Blissful NothingnessThe whole of nature has its ways of reflecting perfection, when we take that momentary pause in which we can step back to appreciate such things. Even, as I posted yesterday, in death there is room for new life; out of captivity, freedom. In silence, I come to better appreciate the small and unobtrusive ways, not just the large, noticeable ones, in which sound enriches my world: water burbling down a ditch, breeze-stirred grasses, bees that sing soft love songs to their golden pollen treasures. In stillness, I relish each breath and every tentative movement as the wind kicks up a little and sets the empty park swings in motion again. Out of wintry darkness and overcast days, I more consciously embrace a bright afternoon and its combed, silky clouds.

In a moment of quiet reverence, I, too, can reflect such perfection better and am made more whole and beautiful.Photo: A Brilliant Day

Singing Our Song

Photo + score cover: Singing Our Song: Rach Vigil

The original ‘our song’ I shared with my true love, because he was in the midst of rehearsing his choir for its performance when we came together—so intensely rehearsing, in fact, that in pretty much the only time I’ve ever known him to talk in his sleep, he whispered dreaming sweet nothings to me in Church Slavonic. Good times!

The expression ‘they’re singing our song’ refers, generally, to recognizing a tune or lyric that carries particular personal weight for a pair or occasionally, slightly larger group of people. It’s our school’s version of Alma Mater, the theme song of our organization, the song that accompanied a memorable first date, first dance, first kiss. Because of its power as a connective tool in communication and in recollection, music is bound to evoke potent responses and pull us into the examination of them, regardless of their current context. I’m one of that lucky class of people for whom music is a pervasive and positive element of my daily life, but I still have some specific favorites not only for what I find appealing about them musically or in their mood, style, and character—and yes, those range pretty widely—but also for the few that stand out in mnemonic and sentimental ways.

There are songs that reconnect me instantly with my childhood, something I suspect is quite a different experience for the younger generations than for mine and earlier ones. Until my youth, childhood songs came not exclusively from radio, films, television, and other distant, anonymous, fixed, or recorded sources but first from the relatives, friends, and teachers who shared them with us and often expected us to sing along. When my family sang in the car on a road trip, it might have sometimes been along with whoever was singing or playing the radio’s pre-packaged tunes, but as often as not it was singing folk songs we’d learned by rote, silly playground songs and game-narrative ones, bits of summer camp songs, rounds, and easily harmonized songs that were popular long before I ever stretched my little pipes to sing. I don’t imagine there’s so much of a lingua franca of family and playground singing not derived from Disney scores and downloads nowadays. There’s lots of delightful and even sophisticated stuff in those, to be sure, but I would guess that there’s a whole lot less that would be in any way distinguishable as historic, traditional, or regional, let along cultural, landmark music that’s just sung for fun anymore unless it’s loaded with undercurrents of market- or message-driven content. Is Mrs. Grady‘s daughter even known, let alone adored, by anyone under a half-century of age anymore?

It’s not strictly old-lady cantankerousness or being prudish, prune-ish, and nostalgic for what may be rose-colored memories that makes me sad for this sort of loss, though there are assuredly elements of those. It’s also a bit of longing for the subtle societal glue that resides in knowing a song: if I spontaneously start to sing an “old familiar lay” under my breath, will there be anybody within earshot who will hear, remember, and join in the song? Are all such endeavors relegated to prearranged flash mobs now? I had a couple of reminders of this urge, recently, and they renewed my quest for an expanded casual-singing culture of the kind that doesn’t require sets, costumes, death-defying choreography, and Auto-Tune.

The first such occasion was, unsurprisingly, in a church setting. Western churches of many sorts are still places where communal singing is common and many songs known to many of the participants by heart. I was at a Protestant church service where, as is typical during communion, the church choir sang anthems and the congregation then sang a hymn or two as well; when the high attendance at the service made communion stretch far longer than expected, the experienced organist got right on the task of keeping the flow going by playing an old hymn. After a few seconds, choristers started softly humming or singing the lyrics along with him, then grew bolder and harmonized, and gradually a number of congregants in the pews were joining in as well. It was really quite sweet, and I certainly thought it perfectly appropriate to the whole concept of a Communal event. But even there, I quickly realized, the truly familiar old hymn couldn’t quite be carried in the old way, because even the choir members clearly only knew one verse by heart, and while it was a lovely bonding experience for everyone, it was fleeting; at the end of Verse 1, a collective dive for hymnals to search for the words (what’s that eponymous first line, again?!), then the resignation to repeat the first verse or fall silent.

Another reminder came in one of the places where such random burst-into-song things do still exist beyond the borders of the performance hall but are perhaps not exercised as often as they used to be: a choral convention. The regional and national gatherings of musicians devoted to choral music—the composing, conducting, rehearsing, singing, performing, and yes, enjoyment of music made for groups of singers—are a great source of education, entertainment, and vivifying energy for me as the partner and follower of a choral musician. And even at these, it’s not as though I hear people breaking into song together, unless they’re rehearsing to perform for each other. Attending an enormous regional musicians’ convention recently, followed ten days later by an equally huge national one, was both exhausting and energizing. And at such events, I don’t often find people gathering to sing together outside of the so-called All Sing sessions, which are of course organized, arranged, led, and regulated nearly as much as any choir’s regular rehearsals.

The point of such conventions isn’t necessarily to build ‘casual relationships’ with singing. But mightn’t it be a fine thing, really? I would guess that the expectation that singing just because, at unplanned moments, with other people, could in fact lead not only to greater interest in and better understanding of more formal choral experiences but also to a more connected social world than social media alone can provide. As the 1971 Coca-Cola advertisement—yes, a commercial jingle—encouraged such idealism and eventually did indeed manage to build into a hugely popular, ex-post-brand-name sing-along song, I [would] Like to Teach the World to Sing. But obviously I can’t do it alone.

Photo + score: Singing Our Song: Nance 'Seal'

This is, in a unique way, truly Our song, because Richard Nance composed it as an anthem for our wedding, and it both became widely popular as an exquisite modern choral piece and remains deeply personal as a gift to my beloved and me from one of our dearest friends.

I Dream the World

I dream the world will learn to sing ‘Til joy suffuses everything—

When peace and happiness abound, I dream a song will be the sound

Most widely heard by every ear Around the globe that longs to hear

A note of kindness, care; of grace, When melody wraps its embrace

Around us like an angel’s wing—I dream the world will learn to sing!

 

I dream the world will learn to sing And make earth’s darkest corners ring,

Will throw aside all warring ways, Mend brokenness, take up the phrase

That calls to harmony all souls The way a carillon bell tolls,

First, lone and softly, then a pair Joins in, and more, and then the air

Is filled with song, like bells a-swing—I dream the world will learn to sing!

 

I dream the world will learn to sing And this, the message it will bring:

We must not wait in silent nights, Unsung ’til happiness alights,

‘Til care and kindness, sweetness, peace, Miraculously buy release

And save us from our voiceless state: If we don’t sing, it is too late,

So let our song rise up and ring—I dream the world will learn to sing!

On a Windy Day of Blue

Digital illo from photos: Ripples

Digital illo + text: Memorable

Mermaids in the Conservatory

Isn’t it a little odd that so many of us find it calming to watch colorful fish swim? We don’t live underwater ourselves, generally preferring to breathe oxygen from above water level. I’m quite certain that most people would agree that the very idea of attempting to survive in a fish’s environment without plenty of protective gear or at least an ability to hold one’s breath for great lengths of time is more intimidating than inviting, especially as it would mean spending time rubbing…hmmm…elbows (?) with a fish. (Pectoral fins? Dorsals?)

No matter. When I’m feeling tired, under stress, or otherwise out of sorts, few things comfort me like the peaceful ripple of calm water when a few fish pass quietly by me. I would go on about it further now, but I’m growing pleasantly sleepy just thinking about it and shall go off to bed to dream of orchid beds and fountains, fan palms and a stone-lined pond filled with a silent, painterly array of highly bred carp easing past me. I’ll leave you with this little pond-full for your own moment of uncoiling in calm.Digital illo from a photo + text: Koi