symphony

some time ago I started a piece which got locked along the way and wouldn't conclude. well today I think I finished it. It's musical value (I must resist the temptation to self-denigrate) is secondary to it's spiritual value in that it might be a solution to recent problems - most of which are beyond my intellectual capacity to understand.
the finishing is not important: it's the writing.
I cannot doubt that my music has an impact on my spiritual life but, as my last post reveals, it has often seemed a negative one. Too often it has been either/or: either prayer or music. This was partially resolved in 2003 through a period of lots of composing - but was this just a temporary truce? . . yes, it's true that the music did seem to flow from the prayer in my little rented house . . and remembering this brings me some hope of a more permanent resolution to all of this . . .
today, when I 'finished' my piece (it seemed much more as though the piece finished with me - which is a good sign isn't it?) I was able to return to the psalms - sore, blind and aching it is true but the point is that perhaps the wall between my music and my prayer begins to break apart. Moreover, it seems today as though the only way to do this is to do it . . . . .ie. to make music: quite literally. In other words (it's important to spell this out clearly) the breakthrough will not come from the prayer into the music. The breakthrough will come from the music into the prayer . . . at least that's how it seems today.
Having said that, I am aware that it may be the seachange (whatever that means) in my understanding of prayer and my understanding of the essentially spiritual nature of music that makes a breakthrough possible . . .
and strangely enough it hinges upon knowledge of my enemy - discussed here so often through these past gruelling months: namely, doubt . . .
doubt as the incessant gale, sometimes merely bracing; oftentimes fierce and howling; [a hail of destructive words and thoughts which rains down in my mind from one day to the next] which sweeps all before it unless we cling to God through prayer, word and sacrament. Musically too, it is doubt which destroys self belief and confidence and has rendered me so often silent, frostbitten and numb . . . .
this is a strangely florid post but I wanted to mark this point consciously.
time will tell if it really was one. . . . .

music and me

I'm not sure how essential music is to me.
sometimes it's seems more a chain around my ankles.
but neglecting it only makes it a heavier burden
it is better to carry the chain than to let it drag behind me.

just now, I finished a piece started months and months ago
(more than a year in fact)
and stopped midway - unable to push it anywhere forward
(too ambitious? marvels beyond me?)
it finished itself and, as usual, I have no understanding of it,
no particular love for it;
I don't know what it means or what it 's trying to tell me
(if anything)
I don't know where it's leading, or coming from;
almost as much a mystery as life itself.

one thought helped me afterwards:
stained glass.
my music must be like stained glass.
the first purpose of a window is to let the light through.
so the glass cannot be too thick and heavy.
it's a transparent veil of meaning between.
and it illuminates.
beautiful word!
the glass is just a means to that end:
to illuminate.

certainty and doubt

of one thing I am certain:
that you are god.
but of my place in you
I am rather more doubtful.

I am puzzled by this:
is this a false faith?
to be certain of you
but not certain of me?

the psalmist says:
I am on the brink of the grave.
and that is how it feels:
teetering permanently on the edge of self-destruction;
never quite convinced
in my heart of hearts
that it matters enough.

is it possible then to have faith and no love?
I suppose love involves a sense of personal worth
and there are times when I simply do not have this.

this, then, is my main enemy: self-doubt.
but I also realise that it is an enemy that I cannot fight alone
from the inside as it were.
because I am a prisoner of it
and only you can free me.

but what must I do I wail yet again.
do nothing you say patiently

the last post proved helpful.
my main enemy - musically as well as spiritually -
is uncertainty,
doubt,
self-doubt,
timidity,
fear of imperfection,
hesitating,
lack of courage . . .
I myself am the enemy
but, once this hesitant position is adopted,
the rest of the world is quite happy to play along.
it says,
'so you are a victim?
then be the victim:
we trample at your command.'

someone sent this to the forum today:
Henri Nouwen writes, 'When we enter silence all outward noise is gone. No motors, no TV's, no conversations. All is quiet. But that is when we start hearing the inner noise, the voices of jealousy, anger, resentment, lust, greed, feelings of rejection, loss, abuse. Their noise can become deafening. We may try to run from them, to find some entertainment to distract us. This is where the interior life begins. It is where we begin to confront our evil thoughts, to replace them with the softer gentler voices of goodness, peace, kindness, gentleness, joy, hope, forgiveness, love.' (Nouwen: Can You Drink the Cup? pg.95). So what do you feed on when you enter into silence: evil thoughts or the Word of God? That is how you know when you are seeking silence for the sake of prayer".

it's doesn't feel exactly where I am at, but it stuck out like a saw thumb
and perhaps I just need to keep reading it over and over . . . .

So what do you feed on when you enter into silence: evil thoughts or the Word of God?

evil is not always angry and jealous:
it can just be doubtful, doubting and half-hearted.

on the last post

reading it again I am puzzled.
there has been joy over the last two days.
a joy which springs from the very depths of despair.
that despair I suddenly found myself in last night.
a despair that for too long had gone unspoken.
noone should live in despair and not talk about it.
'I am in despair' I said,
and the simple realisation gave me a hope of something different. . .
it was enough to say it.
to tell you.
who knew already.

but it puzzles me that despair and joy can be such close neigbours.
knowing the enemy is the first step;
and knowing that one has a true ally is the second.

this morning

this morning prayer had a very clear purpose:
and the focus became:
living in a toxic world.
the only way to live (capital L)
in such a toxic world -
a world of disappointment, tragedy, heartache and,
above all,
doubt.
self-doubt,
God-doubt,
neighbour-doubt,
all sorts of doubt:
a world where difficult compromising decisions are made off the cuff -
usually without all the proper facts;
a world of grey clouds and dark corners,
of sharp hidden fences and cold muddy ditches,
a world of angry judges and wild accusations,
inflicted by self and others,
willy-nilly and ruthlessly,
a world where, although everyman once longed for love
(more priceless than the rarest of precious stones)
like mr scrooge, he learns, over the years,
in his desperate bid for survival (small s)
to manage without it . . .
and having done that, he gradually forgets what it looked like;
felt like; (even those who once knew it so so well)
and then [fatally] no longer recognises it when it walks past him
[that dismal day in Torquay].

because [this suddenly strikes me as crucial]:
yes, omnipotent placeless timeless god -
but love comes to us in a time and a place
and no other way . . . . .
and we must then recognise it.
because only when we have recognised it
can we make our yes/no decision . . . . .

I am straying from my thought this morning:
which was all about the enemy,
the enemy is only one:
doubt . . . . . .

[this strikes me as rather dangerous -
this could turn me into some sort of fundamentalist couldn't it?

perhaps the real problem with fundamentalism is that they look for certainty
in doubtful things,
certainty is then entirely misplaced and so a house is built upon sand.
certainty can only be in certainty -
and there is only one thing that is certain:
faith,
blind, single-minded, totally undoubting faith . . .
and how does one come by that?

I have no idea,
except that I do know that it comes as gift
(asked for over and over perhaps?)

[and on the subject of timeless placeless god -
it did occur to me I might have got that all wrong:
there is a fundamental difference - is there not -
between a timeless placeless god
and an all-time all-place god?
it feels different at least,
though perhaps I am counting angels on pins?]

and so, going back to my morning prayer,
the purpose was clear and unequivocal:
in blind faith:
dark, forbidding place that it seems -
irrational and medieval as it seems -
there is the only way to defeat the enemy
doubt.
and we cannot do that by ourselves because blind faith is a gift
which comes only with presence
because there, hidden in this blind faith, are you yourself:
unequivocal,
all-conquering,
unassailable,
and total joy.
purest of pure,
fullest of full,
most glorious of glorious . . .
I could go on but it's way past dinnertime. . . .

today I must ask a different question:
can my music help me forward or hold me back?

if it can help me forward then I must continue with it.
if it only holds me back then I must not.

tonight I came across a sea of despair
unexpectedly.
or perhaps you turned on the light and that's where I found myself.
cut off from my music
cut off from others
how can I know where I am?
how can I get my bearings?
only through you.
and if I am not honest with you
then of course all is lost.
if there really is despair then I must speak it.
this is what my music has always done -
until now . . . or rather then:
its months already . . . . .

the despair is a strange one
because it is not the whole truth
not at all.
I have known joy have I not?
these past difficult months?
only through you.

I remember in the past how my music was a go-between.
perhaps I have underestimated my need for it to continue to be that.
a means of saying how it is . . . . .
presently lost to me
and potentially disastrously so.
it is essential that I search diligently
for a voice
any voice
heard or not
but I must speak and speak it as it is.
otherwise the journey will end more abruptly than I can imagine.
life or death?
possibly.

I was going to finish there but it occurred to me:
the gift that you gave me:
my music
my piano
these were not given frivolously -
the fact that, for great swathes of my life,
I have not understood the nature of that gift
(however limited my talent -
this isnt the point, if only I could remember that!)
does not detract from the fact that you gave it me:
to bridge the gaps
to heal the wounds
to speak the unspeakable [however incoherently]
to touch the unknowable [however fumblingly] . . .
presently, it is true,
I have learnt a little to touch the unknowable (you of course)
in other ways
but my soul cries earnestly to sing again
to sing for healing and smiles . . . .
to smile again and join the party again.
my music has helped me do that hasnt it?
bridging the gap then.

perhaps above all I need colour.
without music I cannot see colours.
colour may be all around me but until I find it in my music
I might as well be blind.
perhaps that is presently what I am:
blind. [well colour-blind at least.]
deaf. [certainly]
dumb. [not quite by the looks]
slowly dying.

tomorrow I will read this post and be horrified at it's moroseness.
but it's not how I feel.
you can run away from despair
but it will still be there until you walk on through.
the valley of death then.
and my music will be my walk
and you will be my crook and my staff.

but one final thought:
music is not sound.
I can hear sound,
I can see colour.
but at the same time I cannot hear sound
and I cannot hear colours.
when I touch the piano I hear it but I cannot see it . . .
it is hidden from me. . . . .
what is it that is hiding it?
what is the wall between me and the music?
is it because the valley of death is so dark?
is it because I have actually died already:
limping along like a frail ghost?

I know this isnt true.
there is life, there is joy,
there is also a great deal of sorrow.
and I cannot speak any of it!

I can feel it but not say it!
feel it but not say it.
because noone is listening?
you are listening. it was only you who ever listened.
the rest was pretending.
perhaps I have just woken up to that strange fact?
don't expect anyone to understand:
they won't! they don't!
that sounds a little hysterical perhaps.
it rings true nevertheless.

crisis

my prayer today was full of music.
sounds good put like that but it wasn't at all.
music dammed up, or a weight round my neck -
like dragging a long chain.
sing a new song.
who is my music for?
is it for me?
it cannot be for me.
but then if noone else is listening who can it be for?

the tussle is between my prayer and my music.
my prayer is with you.
in prayer I am in you
which is where I need to be.
my music is something quite different
and while it is, there can be no music.
yet the flow and the need are there -
[today's prayer full of dammed-up music tells me this.]

the added problem is that music is an entirely 'other language'.
for me there can be no 'decorative adjectives' or 'romantic allusions'.
my music cannot come from that space.
[writing songs is impossible: like listening to two languages at once.]
it can't be a question of complexity or 'finish':
it can only be a question of 'flow' of 'travel'.
in the lightest, simplest possible way.
this is the same in prayer is it not?

is prayer in any way 'travel' or 'flow'?
perhaps that isnt for me to know . . . .
then why should it be so in music?

when it comes to my music,
the real chain around my neck has always been 'thought' itself.
music must be music and nothing more.
just as an elephant is an elephant
and God is God,
my music can only be my music.
and it can only make sense in it's own terms.
'context' or 'meaning' must emanate from its own existence
and nowhere else.

and ugliness?
clumsy phrasing?
inadequate orchestration?
all these things blur and damage:
environmental toxins perhaps.
weakening the essential thread
but not necessarily breaking it.

fragile then.
[yes: very.
but hadn't we already come to terms with that?]
a thin veil.
watercolour.
no beethovenian solidity here.
and any attempt at it (1st symphony)
sounds preposterous.

perhaps most of all it's about healing.
and perhaps for a while I should just do what I do in difficult times:
have faith:
fight against the tide of doubts and jeers and indifference.

stuff

my music stopped when I decided that noone was listening.
I say decided and not realised because it isn't necessarily the truth.
it's me being melodramatic.
and anyway the truth is never black and white like that.

that day when I couldn't understand my own music
that was perhaps the day . . .
I remember my heart sinking at the sound of it.
like a cook getting the sponge out of the oven
and finding it flat as a pancake and burnt to boot.

the source of the joy had evaporated
leaving only dust.
like a happy banquet after all the guests have finished and left:
a tumble of left-overs, smears, crumbs and dirty dishes.

tonight confirmed for me something that has been dawning for months:
without you everything is dust.

and still the problem is to allow God to be God in the way in which God is:
not to try to reform you into a more suitable, digestible shape.

I am who I am

it will never be a question of understanding that:
only a question of allowing it to be:
the temptation to tamper and meddle is still so unbearably strong

[there is so much I still need to tell you!]

if I ever sing again it can only be to you

time and place

right time wrong place?
wrong time right place?
wrong time wrong place?
right time right place?

how much wrongness can a man stand?
and isn't it nonsense anyway to be asking such questions?
isn't it really a question of faith?
believe that:
it's the right time and the right place.
because?
because it's the ONLY time and the ONLY place.
this is the ONLY time and place that I can meet you.
HERE and NOW.
HERE and NOW.
HERE and NOW.
but that looks like I'm shouting . . . . .sssshhhhh
here and now
here and now
here and now

only have faith!
[doubt covers me like a damp fog]

dialogue

last night I slept.
I slept well and had good dreams.
I dreamt about having meaning and a place:
things to do and hopes and plans.
new starts and new hopes and new plans.
things I wanted to do and dreams and
a place where I could do things
and knew that I could do things.
then I woke up.
the stark difference between my wonderful dream
and the difficult challenging reality
hit me like a train.
I saw everything in a different light
and then darkness began to descend again
because my life has many corners
many boxes
and in each corner
each box
I am a different person.
but if I talk to people in one box
I can't be talking to people in another box
and I can't be doing with these boxes around my life.
casting around for a direction
casting around for a purpose
casting around for someone I could speak to about my purpose.
noone.
nowhere.
darkness descends:
a cloud full of rain and thunder looms.
this is something I have to face alone.
and then there is you.
you.
what to do?
I must come to you because
if there is a way through this
it has to be through you.
there is no other way.
this I know.

when you were living in durham
I told you walk on through.
right now
perhaps that needs to be
limp on through.
limp on
limp on.
it'll take longer but staying is not an option.
there is no staying
only travelling.
your music was all about travelling.
not looking back.
looking back will turn you to stone.
hurry on as best you can.
live the life you need to live
and don't expect anyone else to live it for you.
but remember one thing
I am Life not Death