The arts in my own life, of late, has been a potent meaning-maker… aside from good people and their kind acts.
What I love most about my current projects is their inherent collaborative nature. Working in the studio on recordings with my co-producer is like going into a magical workplace where mutual respect, creativity and vision is the order of the day.
It certainly helps that we and the musicians of Pragnus Gray Collective believe in what we are doing.
I got back to work today on a recording project called “Eleventh Hour Shine”.
The song we are working on is called “Hollowed by the Sun.” It’s about a male bee who is dying under the scorching sun, caught between a window pane and a screen. It is one of a few songs on the record that deals with the issue of death awareness.
It has only been two weeks since the sudden death of a loved one, and it’s interesting that the song that was interrupted by death is itself about death and dying.
It was healthy to get back to the project, but I felt somewhat deflated and perfunctory as we proceeded.
But, there was progress. As they say in self-help circles, one day at a time.
*The photo below of two bees was taken by Anthony Lee.
*Below is an excerpt from a Facebook post I wrote earlier today.
I am posting a link that explains about “complicated mourning” in the event of a sudden, accidental or traumatic death.
The link: Resources for Complicated Mourning
Speaking for myself, I would like people to feel comfortable bringing up this topic, and, at the same time I would like people to have at least a cursory understanding about how to relate to someone who has lost someone like this.
One of the insights found in the article is that survivors who experience a traumatic death of someone close to them almost immediately feel that everything they have been up to is trivial or even frivolous. So, perhaps this is one of those times in a person’s life when gentle encouragement to continue on with their own lives and interests can be pretty helpful.
Maybe you can ask me what I’ve been up to this past year.
If we run into each other somewhere, please feel free to acknowledge my experience (sorry for your loss), and give yourselves permission not to pursue a longer conversation if you are not comfortable doing so.
Two days ago, I finished collaborating on the mix of a song I wrote for my mother, who has been singing rhythm and blues for four decades. The song is called “The Gospel of Longfellow” and is my first attempt at R & B.
The refrain in the piece is based on a quote by poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
“If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.”
I’ve always been touched by that quote (which Longfellow penned shortly following his wife’s horrific death in a fire).
I take it to mean that if we had access not so much to the content of another’s journey but to the inner reality of the person, we would see that he or she is not so different from us, after all.
We would see that the words and actions we have deemed unjust or evil are the person’s best attempts to achieve “the Good” according to the understanding and worldview formed by his/her unique life experiences.
Just like ourselves.
This is perhaps what empathy and compassion is about, and admittedly, it doesn’t come easily for me at times. But it helps to look at it all from this perspective.
Just watched the Spielberg film, Schindler’s List this morning. Seen it many times, but it’s been years since I’ve seen it, and today it moved me more than ever.
Oskar Schindler was a businessman who saved more than 1200 Jews in 1944, bribing Nazi officials into letting him keep his Jewish laborers for his munitions factory. These Jews survived the end of the war because of his courageous actions and have produced more than 7000 descendants.
Oppression, silencing and the arrogance of power-holders will always be with us. It will continue to show itself in families, government, artistic circles, schools, universities, and even online communities.
Those of us who remain cautious bystanders, silently supporting the “tall poppies” are making the right choice in many cases.
But, when we dismiss or take for granted the courageous actions of others, we are making the wrong choice. We can never know the great harm that often comes to them.