A song evolves - 2024 10 31

 

It is very important to be inquisitive, kind, and gentle with ourselves when we are finding our way in music. We don't know what we don't know.

I need to remind myself that I will not perform flawlessly, that I will find my way to and through the music. That my fingers will trip and stumble over the strings, whistle holes and piano keys. That I will not know what I don't know and there will always be something new to try.

I also need to remind myself that the music will find me, that it will lead me, and I, to the best of my ability, will listen and learn.

The last song I wrote was titled, "We are Not Alone". Which is a belief that guides me in everything I do.

This song presented to me and is titled, "I'm on My Own". Which is also a belief that guides me.

I looked at the two charts on the dining table yesterday and laughed at the baffling complexity of this experience of being human. That we are both, at the same time, inter-connected in an evolving web of life, and, autonomous - decision-making individuals - within that web.

I am on my own, in the sense that I am no longer walking through life with my Mom alive in this world. In that sense, I do feel, very much, on my own in the world. I have never known a world, until recently, that my Mom was not in it, was not there, somewhere, for me to use a touchstone, as a way to make sense of the world and my life unfolding.

I am not alone, in the sense that I share this experience with my family, friends, and community. I know there are millions of us processing the grief of family loss and family connection. I am not alone in my need to feel connected, to feel a sense of belonging, to be a part of something bigger than myself.

One of the interesting dynamics of this recent song, is the sense of connection that I feel each time I share it. I have sung it now for five willing listeners and each time it has folded us up into a shared moment of heartache, but also profound connectedness. The words and music gave us permission to suspend our stoic determination to carry on with our quotidian ambition. It gave us permission to sit in the portal, the opening between this world and the infinite unknowability of life and space.

My brother, Tom, walked with me to the funeral home yesterday. He carried Mom's ashes home and we shared memories about our childhood with Mom. When we got home, we made a cup of herb tea. I asked Tom if I could share this song, this work in progress. He said yes, and we pulled out the guitars.

By the end of our time playing together, Tom was at the piano. We had sketched out an arrangement and played through it twice. We had recorded a complete play through.

I was able to stand at the piano and sing without having the wrestle my clumsy fingers to play the guitar. I was able to get through the song and channel my grief and deep respect for Mom without having the emotion completely overwhelm me.

As the last notes of the piano faded into silence, Tom pressed Stop and the recording was done. My tears flowed with gratitude and joy that we were able to honour Mom's return home with such beauty, creativity, collaboration, and skillful know-how. These were Mom's delight. I could feel her beaming. My grief flowed with abandon. My body was shaking with energy. 

I thanked Tom for another adventure. As I said, life is a baffling conundrum of contradictory, complex experiences. We brought Mom's ashes home, we sang a song in honour of her, the song was about feeling alone after her passing. The act of singing, playing and recording the song brought a profound sense of comfort and closeness with my brother, with my Mom and with my family.

This song is its own expression of a moment in time. It conveys the thoughts and feelings of that time in a way that touches the experience and allows it to surface, at least for a moment.