Reminders
I'm sitting here having spent the day rediscovering a few things. I found my love of the library again as reading reserve material became enjoyable for the sheer peace and quiet of it. The feel of wandering among stacks of books, wondering what they would contain. Having at last finished my first comparison of translations of the Dao de Jing, I picked up another two copies to look at. And I also selected "By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept" by Paulo Coehlo. It's the first novel I've read by him- I was looking for "The Alchemist" but they only had the French, and similarly "One Hundred Years of Solitude" by Marquez was only in Spanish. And now I sit reading it as Ryan plays music from Godspell in the background.
In one of those strange confluences of happenstance, the content of the novel and the music are awakening similar feelings in me. The novel floats through a dreamlike exploration of spirituality and love, simple yet interesting. And the memories I associate with both love and the music of Godspell have me feeling thoughtful.
I did that show my senior year of high school. I played Jesus, and though at first I wasn't sure what to think about that particular choice of casting, in the end it really wound up resonating with me. It reintroduced me to the idea that our understanding of God and spirituality should be about gentleness, love of others, and respect for the world. And that pure joy can result from these things. Our cast wasn't particularly religious; nor did we research the background of the show. But in one of those strange twists of fate, I began responding to the Jesus character. A good portion of the group were underclassmen and looked up to me, and I began to see them as younger siblings.
There is a song in the show titled "On the Willows," where Jesus says his farewell to the cast, knowing his foretold separation from them. Though they don't entirely understand, they have shared the meal with him and each share a fond moment from their friendship before lying down to sleep. The first few chords of that song began a moment ago, and though Ryan switched to another track, my breath caught. I can still remember that moment onstage, during our last performance. Soft blue lighting covered the set, except for a single spot on me. As the band continued softly behind us, the audience faded away as I began the farewells. I didn't need any inspiration for the tears that came to my eyes. In those moments I said my farewell to the days of high school and marked in my mind memories of friends, both on the stage and elsewhere, that would remain with me from then on. Hearing that song, I feel joy and sorrow, and remind myself to make new memories that will allow them to continue on.
I've made some beautiful memories in the past two years. Some are beginning to fade a little as the people in them move on. Yet every so often I'll read a passage in a book, or hear the refrain of a song, that makes me remember. It's good to pay attention to these things. They serve as a reminder to evaluate our present condition and whether we're happy with it. Do we have good memories that glow or make us wistful as much as the old? And if not, perhaps we should listen to the little voice carried within those words or notes that whispers our secret joys and paths to contentment.
In one of those strange confluences of happenstance, the content of the novel and the music are awakening similar feelings in me. The novel floats through a dreamlike exploration of spirituality and love, simple yet interesting. And the memories I associate with both love and the music of Godspell have me feeling thoughtful.
I did that show my senior year of high school. I played Jesus, and though at first I wasn't sure what to think about that particular choice of casting, in the end it really wound up resonating with me. It reintroduced me to the idea that our understanding of God and spirituality should be about gentleness, love of others, and respect for the world. And that pure joy can result from these things. Our cast wasn't particularly religious; nor did we research the background of the show. But in one of those strange twists of fate, I began responding to the Jesus character. A good portion of the group were underclassmen and looked up to me, and I began to see them as younger siblings.
There is a song in the show titled "On the Willows," where Jesus says his farewell to the cast, knowing his foretold separation from them. Though they don't entirely understand, they have shared the meal with him and each share a fond moment from their friendship before lying down to sleep. The first few chords of that song began a moment ago, and though Ryan switched to another track, my breath caught. I can still remember that moment onstage, during our last performance. Soft blue lighting covered the set, except for a single spot on me. As the band continued softly behind us, the audience faded away as I began the farewells. I didn't need any inspiration for the tears that came to my eyes. In those moments I said my farewell to the days of high school and marked in my mind memories of friends, both on the stage and elsewhere, that would remain with me from then on. Hearing that song, I feel joy and sorrow, and remind myself to make new memories that will allow them to continue on.
I've made some beautiful memories in the past two years. Some are beginning to fade a little as the people in them move on. Yet every so often I'll read a passage in a book, or hear the refrain of a song, that makes me remember. It's good to pay attention to these things. They serve as a reminder to evaluate our present condition and whether we're happy with it. Do we have good memories that glow or make us wistful as much as the old? And if not, perhaps we should listen to the little voice carried within those words or notes that whispers our secret joys and paths to contentment.