Says Who??

Verstehen, through shared perspectives


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THE SOUL’S MUSIC RESTORED

 

scenic pianoHuman beings have a wonderful gift that I firmly believe connects our spiritual nature to the source of its being. The ability to create beautiful sounds from our own throats, to use our brains to compose melodies and harmonies that become operas, concertos, requiems, ballets, and marches; to combine our voices in the multiple harmonies and rhythms of the choir, accompanied by instruments we have invented for that purpose, is beyond comprehension. The results are so pleasing to us that whether for a free concert or when having to pay a large price for tickets, we will gather together to enjoy this gift that speaks to our souls as a community, or we will listen to recordings by ourselves as we bask in the restoration and pleasure of the experience.

Many of us are drawn to a particular genre of music that has a greater capacity for energizing, calming, or healing that is special to our unique self. Maybe it has the ability to do all of this; perhaps it also becomes a comforting presence to the person who is alone with their joy, sorrow, or just with their thoughts. In any case, those for whom music is a vital part of their life enjoy a profound relationship with it, even if they only have the ability to listen with all their hearts and cannot produce the music itself.

For me, music has always been important. I am almost transported to a higher plane of being when listening to classical music, my favorite—especially to classical piano. Having played several instruments when I was younger, including piano, organ, violin and alto clarinet, I often found myself fingering the notes of a particularly moving or thunderous passage—sometimes even waving my arms in the fashion of a conductor as my entire body listened to, and was moved by, the music. Until it was not.

It has been more than twenty years since I could bear to listen to the classics. Listening to the music was not something I did passively; it could not be background for other activity. I had to stop and concentrate, to listen with my entire body and soul. The music demanded it. So as I grew older, and the disease processes that create my chronic pain grew worse and required all my energy to cope, I no longer had the ability to listen to the classics—especially the piano. It actually hurt, because those pathways of pleasure were now overcome by pathways of pain and illness. Instead of soothing, the music irritated inflamed nerves.

pain photo

 In my previous articles, however, one could follow the wonderful restoration of my ability to function physically under the dedicated care of a pain management physician. I have even regained the ability to work part time, and to function quite normally in taking care of myself. I have often remarked that my brain is not what it used to be, but I was beginning to feel more like myself. This has been an amazing journey; one that continually filled me with awe and gratitude for being given a second chance to live a productive life unbound by severe chronic pain.piano keys

In fact, in the past few weeks I have become aware of an additional blessing. I find myself, more and more often, listening to classical music and especially to classical piano. It has now even taken the place of the less demanding substitutes that occasionally accompanied my drive to work. I am able to listen at home now, giving the music my entire attention.   In other words, I am once again able to listen to “my” music with my body and soul, and to experience the healing and restoration, the uplifting resonances and the calming adagios that exemplify the genre.

I am so very grateful to the physician who continues to serve those with chronic pain despite the cultural unpopularity of that service, and who kept working with me until I regained my ability and determination to live. As a special and additional blessing, I now feel as though a missing piece of my soul has been restored by “my” music, and I am finally, wholly myself once more. And more than ever, I believe that music is one gift given to us that connects us spiritually with the source of our being,  and I again experience the connection, in gratitude.


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I CHOOSE…..

Death, shadowy lifelong companion

So familiar, so often close as to be almost

A visible presence;

Sometimes longed for,

Too long not feared.

 

But in the darkest night of death’s lurking essence:

“Do you want to be healed?”

Jesus asks the cripple at the poolside.

Do you want to be healed?

The words echo in my heart,

Reverberate in my soul.

 

And again:

Do you want to be healed?

I find it hard to say yes!

The Spectre is close to me,

Promising an end to the pain, to the loneliness

Cessation of the everlasting demand to measure up

To life’s demands, to the expectations of others.

Life has been too long, and I am so weary.

 

Do you want to be healed?

The words won’t go away.

I doubt that I have a choice.

What will be, will be. Right?

Death is close. Accept the inevitable. Go gracefully.

But—“Do you want to be healed?”

Dare I say yes?

 

What if it is a hoax—a lie offered by a brain

Too old, too confused, too shattered by pain?

“What have you got to lose?” the challenged brain responds.

“Choose Life!”

I don’t think I really have that choice, I respond.

Besides, to choose life means to once again pick up

All those burdens, all those challenges.

The ones known are bad enough;

What about the unknown suffering that might come?

Can I bear it?

 

“Choose Life!”

No longer imperative, now seductive.

“Think of all that tomorrow brings of joys, and blessings!

Would you not love to see what happens?

Would you not enjoy the adrenaline rush of a new challenge?

Would you not treasure the companionship of new friends?”

 

Yes, but—what about the ever worsening pain?

What about the continued failings of an aging body and brain?

What about…..

“Choose Life!”

This time the words come encased in humor, then laughter.

I think I am beginning to understand.

 

To be healed IS to choose life,

But it is not defined by the healing of a worn-out, diseased body,

“What we are is God’s Gift to us, What we Become is Our Gift to God,”

I have written.

Winston Churchill said “Success is never final; failure is never fatal. It is courage that counts.”

 

Perhaps God is not finished with me yet, even though I feel finished with me.

And just perhaps, another day, another year, even another decade

May find me laughing at Death’s scary faces and threats

While walking with the confidence of Gratitude

For a life wherein I have been, as C.S. Lewis states:

“Surprised by Joy.”

 

Even in the pain, the possibility of making a contribution may be real;

Even in the fear, the possibility of Joy may be real.

If I choose Life, the possibility of Life may be real.

 

I choose life.

 

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