Thursday, September 11, 2008


Last weekend's wedding was a gorgeous outdoor ceremony at a new residence. The bride was in a shade of white, but so were all the groomsmen, and the mothers, and the candles, and the chairs.

The harpist was in her traditional black garb meant to fade into the formal background of any wedding, but in this case did anything but in this beautifully pale setup.

September 11th has always been a difficult day, for each of the past seven years. Seven years ago a just-left love phoned to check in as a soon-to-be new love did the same. Now that new love is also an old love gone. So many feel this deeply today.

The journal hasn't yet been visited and so thoughts around this day spontaneously appeared in a uninhibited email to a friend:

"Today and maybe the entire week or even month is pregnant with loss. The music community lost BC this week, a close friend of the LM band and its members, and a formidable force in the local jazz and other-genre world. He was my age and though I didn't know him personally, the void he left creates a sorrow so palpable it's impossible not to cry. His calling hours were today.

"This morning I played a
9/11 memorial service -- it was me, the minister, and two other people. Very very quiet harp. This is always a little unnerving because the harp sounds best when it can really resonate, and I depend upon its resonance to help me resonate with my surroundings... playing quietly can make the instrument sound dull and ironically playing this way takes a lot of effort. But the season and reason this time was reflection and hope and peace so quiet harp accompanying a crying minister was the only thing appropriate.

"And then I walked the labyrinth in the church, this strange turning and twisting walk that visually is completely symmetrical and straightforward...

"I came home thinking that loss is so prevalent and my efforts to stop it are pointless. This doesn't apply to my getting rid of things. It applies to things exiting without warning, or exiting with warning and no logic, or worse yet with warning and an obliteration of all that was meaningful just prior to exiting.

"I didn't figure out until afterward that emptying the firepit of the mound of ash today was so very symbolic of my attempting to transform loss and obliteration into growth and regeneration. The ash went into flower beds and around plants in an attempt to nourish them. If they all don't die soon, this was a very good move.

"And the spreading of the ash was my tribute to B and all those lost in 9/11. I just didn't know it until after the fact. A very small whisper of an answer to the voice that is screaming, 'What are you doing with your life??!?' Instead of calling hours, instead of trying to mend a botched rehearsal attempt, instead of reading thousands of names.... I know fire well and why not use the outcome of that, fire as my link to both life and death. Ugly ash that hopefully calls forth more life and less death.

".. diminishing the ash pile (is necessary) so that said plywood has the room to breathe to burn. Because the loss of... trust / friendship / love / intimacy / security... ultimately demands, in some twisted and serene way, room to breathe, in order to burn..."

Peace, love, light to all, today and in all ways.

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