“Fresh Meat!”

I could almost hear him whisper it as he circled for a moment, calling out to two others to join him for the prospective meal.  Since I was still moving and considerably larger than any of them, they glided off but returned on occasion to check me out from a greater distance.  They were, of course, Turkey Vultures.

I am writing this while at St. Francis of the Woods in north central Oklahoma.  I have often written posts about SFW.  It is a Center for Spiritual Renewal with an Orthodox chapel (lots of Icons and ornate furnishings), a library, an education building, a few cottages all situated on a 500 acre working farm.  I always spend most of my time here walking the woods and the fields.

This time I had a number of deer sightings.  A couple of them seemed to be checking me out for a while.  Another unseen buck snorted at me from the woods.  I startled a Raccoon.  Surprisingly there were no Armadillo sightings this time.  I saw a snapping turtle large enough to take off a hand.   There was an unfortunate encounter with a small snake – unfortunate for the snake.  I must have stepped on it as I was walking.  I didn’t see it until too late.  Sorry, little fellow.  I am glad Mom or Dad was not nearby.

There were lots of birds.  I heard the loud tapping and the distinctive call of a Pileated woodpecker (17” from head to tail).  There were hundreds of swallows in the air, since it was filled with tiny barely visible flying bugs of some sort.  There was a Baltimore oriole, Titmouse, a Kingbird, Bluebirds, Cardinals, Red-bellied Woodpeckers, Lark Sparrows (I think) and lots of others.  I was not able to identify very many of the birds.  I only know the most common birds and lament that I don’t know more.  There were the sounds of lots of others that any birder worth his/her salt would recognize.  I didn’t.

At one point while sitting on my three-legged stool for a while, I provided a place for butterflies to land and sun themselves for a moment.  The pond had a number of very large Bullfrogs as well as hundreds of smaller ones.  There were many turtles other than the snapper.  One turtle about ten inches long walked across the road in front of me.  A pair of very unusual looking ducks walked into the pond, swam across it and came up on the other side.  I hope to identify them when I get home.  I have never seen ducks with such complex patterns of color.  [I just looked it up.  I have seen them before but I thought a Wood Duck was smaller.  The colors are a perfect match to what I saw.  Google them – they are strikingly beautiful.]

It was a special treat to see good friend John who was a member of my parish in the Oklahoma City area.  He came up to SFW bringing a sandwich from Subway for us to share.  We grew very close during the time his wife was dying of Cancer.  We felt a connection since both of our spouses were struggling with serious health issues. He has since married again and I had the privilege of participating in their wedding some fifteen or so years ago.  They are wonderful people!

When I come to SFW, I always manage to sleep for hours as well as walk for hours.  It helps that there is no Internet here nor is there television.  There are no nearby coffee shops or restaurants.  Cereal, fruit, granola bars and PB&J are the staples.  As always, I watched the sun set as I listened to and checked out the birds this evening.  There is a wonderful serenity here.  When I walk, I do so at a pace that allows me to stop and watch butterflies or flying insects of one sort or another, look at flowers, no matter how tiny the blossoms, celebrate the interaction of the shades of green and muted violet of the grasses with the bright and showy blossoms of some of the more dramatic wildflowers.  I watched a caterpillar negotiate an area around a very active ant hill.  A few ants tried to get a taste, but his spines kept their mandibles from reaching his tender flesh.

I am home now.  Before I left this morning I dispatched the small scorpion that apparently planned to share my shower.  I preferred showering alone.  This noon was the Wednesday Staff lunch to which guests are always welcome.  I have come to feel very much at home with those who serve here.  In addition to the good company, the food is always healthful and very tasty.  Tim made a hearty vegetarian chili that any meat eater would insist was fit for a carnivore.  I have not had better chili with or without meat.  There was jalapeno corn bread warm from the oven, cucumber and onion salad, marinated tomatoes, cantaloupe (I got to help by slicing it), lots of home canned pickles along with much more.  If you tell anyone I said this, I will deny it:  I ate some Okra that Eugene pickled and I liked it!  Last fall I talked with Bob (a retired Professor) about Quantum Physics.  He lost his wife of forty years just two months ago.  We talked a bit about our experiences.  Director Chris is the one who I believe first told me about the The Pilgrimage, a 1987 novel by Brazilian novelist Paulo Coelho.  It is a recollection of Paulo’s experiences as he made his way across northern Spain on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella.  Chris planted that seed when I was still in the planning stages of my trip to New Zealand and Australia.   The seed continues to grow.  Along with others at the meal was Kay, an elegant and gentle presence who along with her husband, now deceased, shaped Saint Francis of the Woods into a place that nurtures the spirit of all who spend time in its embrace.

Falsely Accused!

Aging brings with it all sorts of signs.  We can fight it or accept it.  Which choice we make has absolutely no effect on whether or not we continue to age.  I have decided to embrace the changes as they come.  My beard has turned white except for one small spot (no idea why).  My hair decided to remain brown rather than participate in the change.  I have been thrilled that in the last year the white has started creeping up into the brown.  It has been alleged at various times that I have resorted to coloring the hair on the top of my head.  Falsely accused!! I am innocent.

The only time pigment has been applied to any part of my head was September of 1967.  It was a Saturday afternoon.  The next day would be my first time participating in leading worship at the congregation at which I spent my year of Internship (Vicarage).  Mary Ann trimmed my hair.  The clippers slipped and she cut a wedge right to the skin just above an ear.  The solution involved using one of her eyebrow pencils to fill in the spot so that it would not be so noticeable.  My Mother lived to be 97 and still had brown hair with a few gray ones mixed in.

I have concluded that every white hair in my beard and every wrinkle on my face have been won at great cost.  They are trophies!  I have never longed to return to a younger age.  Every age brings with it some new perception of reality, a new perspective on life.  It seems to me that making friends with each new time in life is far preferable to wasting time doing battle with it.

Accepting the inevitability of aging does not demand relinquishing health, vitality and intellectual curiosity.  Aging does not demand retreating to exclusively homogenous social interactions.  When I was young, I enjoyed spending time with people who had lived a long time, listening to their stories.  Now that I am old, I still enjoy the stories of those much older than I.  At the same time I thoroughly enjoy engaging the young in conversation.

While it is certainly pleasing when someone acts surprised on discovering my age, I do not long to be younger, nor do I want to try to fool people into thinking I am younger.  There are lots of healthy, vibrant people much older than I for whom the age of 69 sounds quite young.  I am just a young whippersnapper (whatever that means), still wet behind the ears with a whole lot yet to learn.

No, I do not nor have I ever colored my hair!

What an Evening!

[These are last night’s reflections – written after just after publishing the last post written earlier in the day.]  I came home feeling exhilarated by the time spent with so many people in stimulating conversations on different subjects.  At one venue the conversations may have shaped a major future event.

It was one thing after another.  It started at BA Design, enjoying a conversation with former Parishioner Stacey, seeing the art she has been producing — as good as I have seen at any of the art shows I have attended in recent years — even the major ones.

The next venue brought the conversations that may have impact on a major future possibility.  First of all, the owner who knew I had traveled to Australia, introduced me to a young woman (college age) who just four days earlier returned from six months in Australia.  Her Dad and Boyfriend who were with her this evening had visited Australia for a month.  We were excited and animated comparing notes on our experiences.  She had ridden a horse on a ranch in the Outback for some of her time there.  She had come off the horse at one point.  She is young and was not hurt.

The last time at this Art Gallery, a conversation with the two owners sparked again my interest in doing the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, the 500 mile backpacking Pilgrimage in Spain.   This time I discovered that a young couple (he works at the gallery) have walked the Pilgrimage.  Her Dad is a Lutheran Pastor as am I (although I am retired and no longer serving a congregation).  For months now, the idea of doing that Pilgrimage has been lurking in the back of my mind, moving forward from time to time.  I have been searching for someone who has actually been on the Pilgrimage so that I could find out what it is really like.  As we were talking a fellow overheard us.  He came over to say that he and his wife had done the Pilgrimage.  He and his wife are around my age.  His wife is from Spain.  Both couples agreed to send me their email addresses so that I can be in contact with them for information about it.  I am becoming more and more convinced that I need to set off for France and Spain sometime in the next year and make that Pilgrimage.

The next venue brought encounters with all sorts of people with whom I already have relationship as well as opportunities to create some new friendships.  Three of the people from the Hospice group with which I spent more than a year happened to be there checking out the art and music.  I arrived too late to hear the Band I had come to see and hear (Chris Aytes and the New Ambition), but I got to talk with them for quite a while after I arrived.  Chris and Renelle are people I have come to like very much.   The conversations can be wide ranging and often thoughtful, touching on subjects close to our hearts.  Big Josh, another member of the band, joined us for a while.  Little Josh is Chris and Renelle’s little boy.

Phil came over to talk a bit.  We had come to know each other when he was working at PT’s Coffee.  He is a very intelligent conversationalist, appreciates the arts and is top of the line at motorcycle and auto repair, a bit of a Renaissance Man.  Laura and Andrew came by.  I already knew Laura, a very gifted artist.  I met Andrew and within minutes we were deep in conversation since he had spent time in a (different brand) Seminary also.  We talked theology.  Soon Carlos and Julie arrived, both new to me although I had seen Julie before at the Monkey.  With Julie the conversation was about singing, which both of us enjoy very much.  With Carlos the conversation was about food, especially the cooking of Ozzie, the Ozzie of last Friday’s outing to the Nelson and the tapas restaurant.  While various conversations were going on, Parishioners from my former congregation came by.  Their Son was among the 21 Eighth Graders I Confirmed last Sunday when I stood in for Pr. Jim in leading the worship services.  They are wonderful singers.  He is the main male soloist in the parish.  They have sung many duets as well as singing as part of the choir and a Contemporary Service Ensemble that regularly leads worship at one of the Services.

I came home feeling the same kind of excitement I experience after having been impacted by a great concert.  Whether a shower of endorphins or a dopamine rush, it is clear that good music and good conversation are my recreational drugs of choice.  Of course, there is always the option of caffeine (PT’s coffee is the delivery system of choice).

Going Out

Tuesday evening last week included dinner and a drink out.  It was a birthday treat.  Just in case there are any who are jumping to conclusions, Jim picked me up for the outing while his wife Lynn played Bunko with her usual crew.   We had talked about tasting some good Scotch.  That evening was the result of the conversation.  We had a good Irish meal (Bangers and Mash), a taste of Redbreast Irish Whiskey and some good Scotch.  It was an enjoyable evening.

That Friday evening Holly and Ozzie from the Staff of the Monkey joined me for a trip into Kansas City to the Nelson Art Gallery for a free concert.  This is the second time some from the Monkey and I have ventured into the world of culture together.  It is the Flying Monkey’s Culture Club, which is not a club since there is no membership, just spontaneous adventures by whoever is available and interested (up to the number of seats in my van).  The singer at the Nelson was Vincent Cole who has sung in many of the opera houses in the world including the Metropolitan Opera.  The Pianist accompanying him was Karen Kushner, who frequents Carnegie Hall among other venues.  The moment we walked into the open area in the Nelson where the concert was taking place, the power of the music was overwhelming.  The room was perfect.  There was no amplification, but his voice filled the space.  There was Hayden and Beethoven sung, Massenet, followed by three more contemporary pieces.  The three contemporary pieces were deeply emotional odes to love.  I could not help but be drawn to forty-eight years of loving Mary Ann before she died almost two years ago now.

After some time in other rooms in the museum looking at the art, we settled in the Gift Shop for a time.  It was as if I was watching two Kids in a candy store as Ozzie and Holly moved from item to item, celebrating many of them.  We ended up at a restaurant called Extra Virgin.  The full tapas menu included lots of appetizer-sized dishes that when put together made a wonderfully interesting meal, filled with complex flavors.   We ordered a number of dishes and shared them all equally.  It was a new experience for me.  I loved it!

The Thursday evening between those two days was spent at the performance of an Opera, Dido and Aeneas by Purcell.  It was performed by College Students, most who were performing in an opera for the first time.  They were talented people who were fun to watch.

The concert at the Nelson revealed that feelings are still stirring – as they should be.  Feelings of grief have been bubbling up at will a little more often recently.  The reason is obvious.  Mary Ann’s birthday is May 15.  Mother’s Day is on the 13^th.  By Memorial Day two years ago, the decline to her death began in earnest.  Of course we didn’t know that she was approaching her last days.  She died on June 14.  Certainly not everyone grieves in the same way at the same pace, but very many find feelings of grief accessible long after the loss of someone loved deeply.  I remain comforted in my access to the feelings.  They do hurt.  The grief comes in little waves, sometimes larger ones.  While they can be powerful, they no longer measure up to the tsunami of pain that hit those first weeks and months.  I am reassured that my love for Mary Ann and our decades together count for something.  Sometime around the end of May and beginning of June it will be exactly 50 years since Mary Ann and I met as Adults and soon thereafter started dating.

Midday today I took some time to sit in a spot with a good view and read the next article the latest issue of the Spirituality Journal, Weavings.  This issue addresses the question, “Why are you afraid” from a variety of directions.  The article titled “Epektasis, Antidote to Fear of Change” touched the very core of this transformative time in my life.  What of things past should be left behind when striving to stretch forward (epektasis in Greek) into the future?  The article had a very thought provoking way of saying what I summarized in very few words.   At my age, there is a need to look back on past accomplishments and try to frame them in the best way possible to find enough validation to assure that my life has had value.  Decades of living with and loving someone deserve to be remembered.  The article was written by someone who has just passed his 80^th birthday.  It is not a call to diminish the past, but rather to continue to move forward into the future, to keep moving in a forward direction as the stream of life continues.  That stream (my words, not his) when looking back is called the past.  When looking forward it is called the future.  The past has brought us to where we are at the moment.  Epektasis assumes that there is a future toward which we need to keep striving.   The past provides that which fills the present, but it can become the focus of the present, thereby frustrating striving toward the future.  The article is a call to epektasis.  The words that capture that reality for me are the words, “I’m not done yet!”

Mary Ann and forty years of Ministry are part of who I am now.  They have shaped who I have become.  I am not done yet.

Exhausted!

I had forgotten just how draining it is to spend many hours using large quantities (ergs?) of nervous energy in front of three different groups of people totaling maybe six or seven hundred (a large attendance due to the events) speaking at and leading portions of worship.

My exhaustion was inconsequential in the face of the reason for my participation. The Father of the Pastor who followed me at the parish from which I retired died early last week.  He had been sick and was being served by Hospice.  Pastor Jim needed to remain in another State with his Mother and family to be a support to her.  Having been through the sort of loss his Mother experienced, it is clear that is exactly the choice that needed to be made.

The impact of that circumstance was increased by the fact that today was the Confirmation of twenty-one Eighth Graders who had been preparing for this day for two years.  Extended families would be gathered for what in our tradition is one of the most important days in a Young person’s life.  It is the recognition that these people have reached the age of discretion, and they are declaring their intentions as their faith life unfolds during their trek through Adolescence and on into the rest of their lives. It was an honor to be able to stand in for Pastor Jim, freeing him to fulfill his responsibility to his Mother and his Family at this difficult time for them.

One dimension of the experience did not become clear to me until at a rehearsal for the day, a couple of parents observed that when they were infants about fourteen years earlier, I had baptized those same people at whose Confirmation I would now be presiding.  When I thought back over my forty year career, I realized that this would be the first time I had Confirmed people I had baptized as Infants.  The duration and/or the role at the congregations I served did not provide that opportunity.

Another dimension of the experience that came to mind as I was preparing to preach the sermon in the third Worship Service this morning, the one at which the Confirmation would take place.  Very soon after Mary Ann died, it hit me that I was starting life over again.  Gratefully, that life still included my Children and Grandchildren, but my career of forty years was over and my wife was no longer here with me.  Those two things had been the focal point of my days, all day long every day for my entire adult life.  I realized as I was preparing to stand in front of those twenty-one Eighth Graders and their extended families that there were twenty-two of us starting a new journey in life.  There were twenty-two of us wondering who we are becoming, what we should do with our lives.  They are stepping out of their families of origin, at some point, on their own as a unique someone who is not just an extension of their parents.  I am moving into an unknown, by myself.

It isn’t the first time I have identified with people in their circumstances.  The working title (not necessarily the final choice) of the book I am painstakingly slowly trying to write is “Thirteen Again.”  Just a week or two after Mary Ann died I went to a musical titled, “Thirteen.”  The central character is having his Bar Mitzvah, wondering who he is and what will come in his life.  As I watched and listened, I was moved deeply by his struggle, realizing it was precisely the struggle I was in.  There is a certain uniqueness about that time in life when we confront the harsh reality that each of us is a single someone separate from everyone else.  No one else can live our lives for us.  That realization can be frightening.  It is also exciting as hints of all sorts of potential futures for who we are becoming come into view.

The experience this morning was both moving and frightening for me.  My regular participation in leading worship ceased almost four years ago.  It is hard to describe the complexity of moving through three worship services all having different bits and pieces to track, different elements to negotiate.  I made one hopelessly embarrassing faux pas in one of the services.  Gratefully, it had no impact on the event other than to embarrass me and leave those who caught what was happening a little unsure what on earth I was going to do next.  It did leave me wondering if it is time no longer to accept any request to serve in that role.  No matter what, I would have accepted the role this Sunday since it was an emergency need.

I am exhausted; I am sad for Pr. Jim and his family having to deal with the death of his Father.  I am also grateful for the chance to have been a part of such a day.  I can only hope that it was a good day for their families and those twenty-one young people who were Confirmed.

Running Away from Home?

This weekend that question came to mind.  Am I?  I sat at home Friday evening with a bowl of popcorn and the movie Howard’s End (a DVD from the library).  It turned into a sort of experiment this weekend.

Saturday evening was spent out at the Monkey listening to some live music, a spectacularly talented Hammer Dulcimer player who writes most of his own music.  Joshua Messick (I am sure he won’t mind my using his name) was the National Hammer Dulcimer Champion in 2003.  It is obvious why he won.  His style is emerging from the synergy of the music with which he grew up (hymn melodies I recognized), traditional hammer dulcimer music (Celtic and American), and a bit of New Age into something akin to World Music.  Elements of Classical music can be spotted sometimes in what he has written.  All that being said, the music is interesting and complex, filled with expression, a combination that captures the listener.  It was a very pleasant experience.

The time at the Monkey included conversation with a couple about my age, along with short conversations with a few of the young people I have come to know there.  Then a longer conversation continued with Joshua and another of those I have come to know there.

The experiment continued Sunday evening at a Harp and Flute concert at Grace Cathedral.  I have watched the Harpist move through the later years of high school and college since she often served as an instrumentalist when the choir at the Congregation from which I retired as Pastor sang at special Services.  Both she and the Flutist played music that would have been beyond the ability of most, even good Harpists and Flutists.  We sat in an intimate side Altar area.  I was less than ten feet from the performers.  There was an otherworldly character about some of the pieces.  There was a spiritually nurturing dimension to the music, as was so the night before listening to the Hammer Dulcimer music.  Again, there were some folks there that I knew in addition to the Harpist, allowing for some time interacting with others.

The other bits and pieces of the short term experiment included a trip to a busy Farmers’ Market Saturday morning.  During the afternoon on Saturday I drove to KC for a BBQ contest my Son Micah and Friend Jason.  I just did some tasting and hung out with them until the results came in.  They made a good showing, just not as good as they would have liked.  Everything they made tasted great.  A good friend even provided some homemade Big Iron BBQ beer, labeled with their logo.

The experiment extended to Monday evening.  I drove the hour into Kansas City and attended a performance of the opera, The Barber of Seville.  This comedy opera was never boring, often very funny, containing some of the most familiar arias, along with a very familiar Overture.  The overture took me back to 1986 when Mary Ann and I watched a PBS special of a performance of the King’s Singers, who mimicked the instrumental overture using only sounds they made with their mouths.  The VHS recording we made brought Mary Ann joy when nothing else would during the first months after her Parkinson’s Diagnosis (I was living in OKC at the time beginning my service as Pastor there).  The people sitting behind me at the Opera included someone who was serving at the Choir Director when I first arrived here to serve the Parish from which I retired.  He and his wife knew well Mary Ann’s challenges.

Now, back to the experiment:  Friday evening was spent as a single person trying to entertain himself at home alone.  The movie was beautifully done, but there were tragic elements in the story.  A clip from that movie had been used at the lecture preparing to hear the Beethoven and Janacek piano music at last weekend’s concert in Kansas City.  As I anticipated the attempt at entertaining myself at home by myself, I wondered if all the trips to KC for concerts, or the outings in public settings, have been little attempts at running away from home, from being at home by myself.  Of course, I couldn’t help but wonder if spending four months away from home traveling last year was an attempt at running away.

At the moment, I am thinking that changed circumstances have reversed the polarity in my life.  When I was working full time and caring for Mary Ann, there were constant demands for interaction with others, responding to the needs of others, engaging them fully in hopes of making some small difference for good in their lives.  During that time I sought to get away to private settings, seeking solitude.  Now that my circumstances have switched to being alone the vast majority of my time, I long for community interaction, time with people.  I am not sure that I am as much running away from home as I am running to human interaction, conversation, relationship (even if only very short term).  I am running toward experiences that affirm a multiple layered life with quality that extends up and down, from side to side, filling the huge chasm left when Ministry ceased and Mary Ann left the planet.

In this regard, my journey is not unlike everyone else’s journey whether or not there has been some dramatic loss.  While we differ in personality type from one another, some more introverted, nourished by our time alone, others more extroverted, feeding on social interaction, some sort of balance private and public time seems to make sense.  We will differ in how much time in each of those arenas seems to provide a good balance.  The chances are our needs will change at various times on our journey, sometimes in response to an external change in circumstances.  Sometimes our needs will change because we have changed on the inside.

It seems to me that a balance of some sort is needed.  To spend all our time in isolation from others, with only our own thoughts for company seems to me to be a formula for a variety of destructive results up to and including madness.  To spend all our time in social settings can leave us void of any sense of who we are on the inside, always looking to the eyes of others for our identity.   (Lots more could be said on this, but the post is already way too long.)

For now, there seems to be a balance of private and public time that includes some running away and some running to.  It is not perfect, but for now life is full and the journey is continuing.  Questions like the one in this post need to be asked regularly to keep a healthy balance in responding to the Call to Live.

I’m Still Here! Life Comes in Layers.

I was 68 years old when I last posted here.  I am now 69.  The time elapsed between then and now has only been 9 days.  I feel as if I have been out of town, partly because I have driven the 140 mile round trip to Kansas City each of the last three days.  One of those days included a second trip of about 70 miles to and from Lawrence, Kansas.  The rest of the reason is that the days have been full, including concerts and gatherings with friends and family over food.

I am wishing I had a little studio apartment within walking distance of the cluster of music performance venues in KC to which I keep returning (can’t afford that – on a pension).

Two of the trips were to see Granddaughter Chloe play soccer (the team that Son Micah coaches).  A special treat on Sunday was that I was invited to Micah’s earlier in the day to enjoy the smoked ribs, brisket and pulled pork he was preparing to practice for next Saturday’s sanctioned BBQ contest at the VFW in Overland Park, Kansas.  Since the day was also designated as a birthday celebration for me we shared the traditional B&R ice cream pie (Grasshopper).

Friday’s trip to Lawrence was also for a birthday lunch, this time with long time KC friends.  Wheatfields is a bakery/restaurant with a major emphasis on the bakery.   The variety of bread of exceptional quality is impressive (great desserts too).

Before that on Wednesday I enjoyed a meal intended to celebrate two birthdays, mine and Don’s.  These are folks who have been special friends to Mary Ann and me.  They continue to include me a meal at various times, occasionally including me in family gatherings.  A growler of Harmonie Bier that I brought from New Harmony, Indiana, provided a very pleasant accompaniment to what is always a spectacular meal.

Life comes in layers.  I have talked about this before many times.  Some experiences in the past days have surfaced a clearer recognition of the layers in which it comes.  Most of the time, we don’t see them.  When we don’t see them, whatever we are looking at, listening to, or living through seems boring.  One of the experiences that triggered this rediscovery was attending a concert by the Pianist, Jonathan Biss.  I attended the hour long pre-concert multimedia lecture on the composers, especially Leoš Janáček.   According to Wikipedia:  Leoš Janáček (1854 –1928) was a Czech composer, musical theorist, folklorist, publicist and teacher.  He was inspired by Moravian and all Slavic folk music to create an original, modern musical style.

What became clear was that the pieces of music we would be hearing emerged from dramatic events, some of which took place around the time of my Mother’s birth (1907) in neighboring Poland (although her parents were German).  A young person demonstrating for the right to have a university that used the Czech language was shot.  One of the pieces to be played was written as a way of expressing his horror at what had happened.  A Beethoven piece was described as a somewhat similar expression of the history in which he was living, the time of Napoleon, a time of great turmoil.

Jonathan Biss was so immersed in the music and the layers of meaning in it that his whole body, his facial expressions as well as his strong and facile hands made them visible as well as audible.  It was an overwhelming experience for me and, it seemed, many others who were present.  I chose not to use the word “audience” in describing those present, simply because the connotation of that word suggests just listening rather than fully experiencing the layers of the communication.

At the Symphony here in town the next evening (Saturday), the pre-concert comments revealed an even more complex struggle by the Russian composer, Shostakovich.  According to Wikidpedia:  Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich (1906 –1975) was a Soviet Russian composer and pianist and was one of the most celebrated composers of the 20th century. Shostakovich achieved fame in the Soviet Union under the patronage of Leon Trotsky’s chief of staff Mikhail Tukhachevsky, but later had a complex and difficult relationship with the government.

I was alive during the years he struggled so much.  The piece of music, Symphony No. 5, reflected his struggle during the Cold War era, his conflicts with and accommodation to the iron-fisted control of the political leadership.  As with Janáček, the music revealed much more than just notes and rhythms.  It told a story.  One movement served as a sort of Requiem for the fifteen million killed by Stalin.  I was moved by what I heard.

This is not just about music.  It is about a way of experiencing and engaging the depth and breadth of each encounter filling our minutes, hours, days and weeks.  They come one at a time.   Rather than letting those encounters drift by with only a glance, or worse yet, wasting those encounters wondering when they will be over so we can get on to something we imagine will be more full of life or less boring, responding to the Call to Live urges us to experience them fully.

Has anyone else heard his/her child say, “I’m bored,” meaning, find me something that will make me less bored, something that will create excitement for me?  The harsh reality is that boredom is our responsibility.  No one else can fix the problem of our boredom.  It is what we bring to the experience that makes something boring or not so boring.  Of course there are experiences in which the external stimuli are so overwhelming that remaining bored is not possible.  The problem comes when we allow ourselves to be seduced into wasting life waiting for external stimuli matching or exceeding that which overpowered our boredom the last time.  The worst part of it is our brains are structured to habituate to those overpowering stimuli so that soon the intensity needs to increase to overwhelm our boredom.  We have the power to shatter the boredom by looking for, listening to the layers beneath the surface of whatever is going on, whomever we are talking with.

At the birthday lunch, friend Gary responded to my question about expectations for the Kansas City Royals this year with a very engaging description of the history and dynamics of the team.  While I enjoy a good football or basketball game if I have a favorite team, I know very little about sports.  Friends Gary and Charlie know sports at a level that is far distant from the one at which I live.  As I thought about the concerts, the depth of the layers that welled up as I experienced the performances, it dawned on me that Gary and Charlie encounter the games they watch with that same sort of depth of experience.  They know the players and their history, the way they have come together to form the team, the struggles they have been through.  They see the dynamics of the play in multiple layers including the styles of the various coaches, the strengths and weaknesses of the teams, where they are in their upward or downward path.  When they watch a game, they experience it fully.  They bring to the experience the knowledge and awareness that makes a game of baseball, which I find boring, into something stimulating great interest and excitement.

Life comes in layers.  What may seem boring at first glance can become thrilling with informed eyes and ears and minds, taking the time to see past the surface.  While it would be impossible to experience all the layers to be found in every moment, look around as you travel through each day.  There are thrilling discoveries to be made if you will dig for the gold that lies beneath the surface.