Jane Siberry's City

I pulled Jane Sibirrey's cd, City, off the shelf today for a listen. Perusing through the cd booklet, I came across text that touched me. I'll share a few excerpts:

"For to do something with care

Is the closest thing to the feeling of love that can be found

It is all I know

This is protection

This is the narrow bridge

And the hand that reaches out for the drink, the drug

And it grabs a cloth instead

And you protest

And you start to clean

And you clean the corners like they've never been cleaned before

And you weep as you clean, but you keep on going

And in this tiny gesture of respect

The protection is found

And the cape of grace

Moves softly down the shoulders

Throwing a safety line out to love"

--

"...and to remember to apply all that we have learned to the tiniest details of our lives -- to do the smallest things with great care -- sending a message out to the universe of our desire to find a better way."

--

the cape of grace

our desire to find a better way

this tiny gesture of respect

this tiny gesture of respect

this tiny gesture of respect

this

tiny

gesture

of

respect

Feeling and not feeling...

Near the end of one of the chapters in Kay Redfield Jamison's book, An Unquiet Mind, and about three-quarters of the way through, she refers to a piece of music I wanted to follow-up on:

"That night, waiting for my moody, intense Englishman to appear--needlepointing, watching the snow fall, listening to Chopin and Elgar--I suddenly was aware of how clear and poignant the music seemed, how intensely, beautifully melancholic it was to watch the snow and wait for him. I was feeling more beauty, but more real sadness as well. When he arrived...I put on Schubert's posthumous Piano Sonata in B-flat, D. 960. Its haunting, beautiful eroticism absolutely filled me with emotion and made me weep. I wept for the poignancy of all the intensity I had lost without knowing it, and I wept for the pleasure of experiencing it again. To this day, I cannot hear that piece of music without feeling surrounded by the beautiful sadness of that evening, the love I was privileged to know, and the recollection of the precarious balance that exists between sanity and subtle, dreadful muffling of the senses." (p. 163)

Here is the piece I think she was referring to (although if I have it wrong, please let me know). Perhaps you might like to stop all other doings, turn up the volume, and listen with full attention?

If you feel sad while listening or full or or thankful or joyful or you feel longing, keep breathing. Breathe fully with the feelings. Remember to breathe.

"Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens

Here is a video for the song, Casimir Pulaski Day, by Sufjan Stevens. I find watching the video makes me feel a bit dizzy so I prefer to simply close my eyes or look away and listen. I wanted to provide this, however, to give those who haven't heard the song, an easy and free way to hear it. Having said this, you could purchase the song from itunes for 99 cents and support Sufjan, or you could purchase the whole album, Illinoise, wherever you like. It's an interesting album that I've enjoyed.

The Blanket Song

This week, I had the pleasure of listening to a recently posted concert of Canadian singer-song writer, Karla Anderson, which you can find on the CBC Concerts-on-Demand website by clicking here. While listening to the beautiful song, “What else can I do?” I thought, with caring, of my friend who is sick and my friends who are both excited and anxious in the face of current changes. What else can I do but bring a blanket for you…lend my shoulder to you…share the silence? Follow up listening with the song, “Gentle Kindness,” and, if you respond like I did, you’ll find yourself taking a deep, satisfying breath, maybe even feel a tear.

Thanks, Karla, for sharing your gifts.

El Camino

For those of you who have not yet heard of the musician or the album, I would like to use today’s post to introduce you to Camino by Oliver Schroer, an album which I highly recommend. The cd comes out of a pilgrimage that Oliver, his wife, and some friends went on in 2004. As explained on his website, they walked 1000 km of an eleven hundred year old pilgrim trail through France and Spain known as the Camino de Santiago. During the walk, the music on this album–that primarily of Oliver playing his violin–was recorded. This is powerful music to be sure.

As I have confessed to a few friends, I have often fantasized of playing this album out into the neighbourhood one still summer or autumn night. (Recently, I thought New Year’s Eve would be another wonderful time to do this.) I have imagined the music arriving in the ears of backyard and balcony dwellers, in the kitchens and bedrooms and living rooms of people with their windows held ajar. I have imagined people might stop what they were doing then and just listen and that there would be something very special, very moving and touching for them in the experience (kind of like the man who played the penny whistle outside in my neighbourhood a month or so ago). I’ve also imagined doing this somehow when the power is out, because I find that power outages in the summer can be special times–it seems to draw people out of their rooms and walls and into the fresh air, into conversations over the soft glow of flickering candles and the hush and stillness that takes up space in the absence of the usual electrical whirring and hums. Of course, I realize that some people would likely not appreciate my gesture and it could significantly annoy some people. Consequently, I expect I would hold back. Still, I like to imagine the potential beauty of it, if for no other reason than it pleases me and is filled with magic and love.

The liner notes to the album are a wonderful read. I want to share with you a brief excerpt from the English version of the notes, which are also available on Oliver’s website. Peter Coffman, one of Oliver’s friends who went on the pilgrimage and who took several photographs along the way, wrote of El Camino the following:

El Camino. The Road. The Way. It is a metaphor for a spiritual voyage, an inward journey symbolized by an outward one.

But it is also a very real, very physical path. It is a muddy trail through a forest. It is a hot, dusty line slicing through a parched landscape. It is a country road hugging the edge of a river gorge. It is a cobblestone lane through a medieval village. It is the hard, concrete shoulder of a bleak highway. It is a row of stones crossing a stream. It is continuous, unbroken, yet changing in shape, colour, texture, mood. The one constant is the sound of footsteps — the heartbeat of the pilgrimage.

I love that description and the last two lines. Thank you Peter Coffman for writing that.

I think a lot about the journeys people take, make, and find themselves on and about the idea of journeys, individual and collective ones, the fullness of them, the twists and turns. I think about one’s inner life (and outer life), the ups and downs, the changing weather and landscapes, as well as about that idea of some constant or constants–some thing or things that are with us throughout, most surely our own breathing, one breath at a time, and our own feet stepping along whether literal or metaphorical. I think, among other things, of the moon as one of these constants for me, of the moon as one example. I have many images and memories of the moon’s presence as I have walked along.

I wonder tonight as I type alongside my cat and two flickering candles about what your journey might be like, what is happening right now, what has happened already, what hurts, what feels good, what is unfolding or yet to unfold. I reflect upon the journeys of people I know and people I don’t know. I feel quieted and moved and also a sense of connection. I tune in to the rhythm of my breath, and the image of the moon, and of the sound of footsteps walking. I wish to greet you today wherever you are and exactly where you are at in this moment. Namaste.

Now there is a fire where there once was a spark...

Do you ever find yourself feeling full, alive with much, touched by many things, yet unsure how to capture any of it with words? I have been finding myself in this space off and on lately–full of much, moved and enlivened by much but unsure how to express all that it stirs, what to say.

Here, I might offer my recommendation of a concert that was recorded last February (2006) in honour of Black History Month. You can listen to the concert on-line at CBC Radio Two’s “Concerts on Demand” website–a site, I might add, that appears to be amazing, full of live-recorded music to explore. Click here to get to the show.

As detailed on the website, Alan Neal, the host of CBC’s radio program, Bandwidth, commissioned various musicians to write a piece of music about Canadian Black historical figures including Eligjah McCoy, Mary Anne Shadd, Portia White, Harry Jerome, Dr. Daniel Hill, and Carrie Best. The musicians had less than two weeks to do this and the results are truly impressive with songs and stories that are informative, deeply moving, sad, inspiring, strong. I listened to the concert for the second time last night on the radio, and it stirred that full feeling in me–absolutely powerful and real though leaning toward the intangible. If you have time, I encourage you to listen to the show all the way through. (To do this, click on the tracks in the order that they appear, beginning with the “Introduction” and ending with “That Lonesome Road”. Mac users will need to have downloaded Windows Media Player for Mac or Flip4Mac or some other program that will play windows media files.)

I also wish to draw special attention to Jill Barber’s song, That Lonesome Road. It is a song that moves me. I first heard this song on the radio about a year ago; next, near the end of this past year, 2006; and third, last night, while listening to the repeat broadcast of the February, 2006 Bandwidth concert. When the song was played on Bandwidth near the end of last year, Alan Neal explained that it was the most requested song of the year. I’m not surprised. Do have a listen. When I heard it last night, I stopped what I was doing (preparing some tasty food) and I sat on my little wooden rocking chair near the radio speakers, listening with attention in full.

Now there’s a fire where there once was a spark
And a woman who made her mark
With the strength not to take it,
find the silence and break it
and to lead with her head and her heart

Jill Barber

If you click here, you will find a legible photograph of the lyrics for the song from a blog by a young, Canadian teacher who attended the recording of the show last year and writes a bit about this experience on her blog, Easy on the Butter.

A word that comes to mind to me now (and often) is journey. I am thinking of the journeys people find themselves on and how they navigate these. I am also thinking today of questions related to how to help another feel that the fight is worth it when they are in a low place, how to help inspire another, how to help them connect to that spark within where they may find their strength.

~

So a young girl makes a choice
Hears the sound of her own voice
She makes up her mind, she’s
determined to find
a way to hear it rejoice
Jill Barber

(And a way to find her own voice.)

Sing Your Song

Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to listen with full and complete attention to the music album, Sing Your Song, by Canadian musician, Kat Goldman. I must say, I think the album is wonderful. For me, it fell into the category of right thing at the right time and I felt deeply moved by it. On the first listen through, I wept, at times, in response. The music imbues beauty and the kind of strength that you sense goes deep. The album art is also lovely with black and white images of Canadian women dancers taken from 1908 to 1948.

If you are at all curious, visit Kat's website at www.katgoldman.com. On it, you can listen to some full songs from the album, as well as samples of others. I would also direct your attention to her bio where it gives powerful context for the victory of this album, as well as of Kat's life as she spent two years going through numerous surgeries and learning how to walk again after a freak accident--all in the not so distant past.

Admittedly, I do not know much about Kat but in what I know and my own experience of her music, I think she is remarkable. I offer her my heartfelt thanks for being true to herself, for following this dream, and for sharing her music with the world. This is a gift.