With that sweet moon language.
Flowers inside the entrance of Ueno Zoo - a long row of radiant, delicate cupped pastel on thin green stalks held by gusts of wind. Otherwise, I couldn’t find anything worthwhile - only a lot of tired-looking zoo animals behind bars and glass. And a snapshot of part of a Rodin sculpture outside Ueno’s National Museum of Western Art, where I went to see a “Venus” exhibit.
I saw this movie about Rachmaninoff (the English name is “Lilacs”). When I began to tear up at the opening chords of his Piano Concerto No. 2 at the beginning of the movie, I realized again how much I care. Piano was my first intimation of mortality - you can never turn back time to create the circumstances that might have made you better, that would have polished your negligible amount of potential (and thirst & desire) into some form of great and shining success. But I would rather live my failure with grace; I have moments that I would rather keep for myself. When many a teacher said, during one of my frequent moments of dissatisfaction, “But I like to hear you play.” My teacher sitting in silence before saying, “That was beautiful” - because I missed notes, but this piece is everything to me. A spare space in time - a hushed moment kept tight in my heart - when, for once, I was on a stage or in a practice room, and I played honestly because I forgot myself entirely, or you could say I remembered myself fully, without any hesitation or self-deprecation. The knowledge that someone has really heard. I want to leave these things with myself. I would rather forget all the ugly thoughts - that I have bad technique, that my playing is appallingly bad to many people - and instead learn to embrace this wonderful love story that I have had. I am always mocking myself with a relentless, cruelly acute inner critic; I have an extremely difficult time taking myself seriously. Is it peculiar that piano has been such a big part of my consciousness, my personal growth, when I’m not even a very good pianist? But I am good, in that I have always gotten something out of a piece that has mattered to me.
At Yale, I want to keep on playing and accept the place that piano has for me. I cannot compete with anyone else; I cannot try to fight against time. Sometimes I forget what I have learned, that people can leave this world all too quickly, and under these circumstances, you should really just do everything that matters to you. I think about what a pleasure it will be to play the piano again, to share pieces like small jewels with people I care about.
A poem first found by a dear friend.
Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”
Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.
Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.
Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye
that is always saying,
with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in this world is dying to hear?
- Hafiz, “With That Moon Language”
Originally published at enyi.org. You can comment here or there.