I took these photos at the, Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert last night. It was the second year in a row I attended their concert. They are great. I did not know what to expect the first year I went. I was surprised at the arena rock style concert but thoroughly enjoyed it. This year’s concert was even better. If you have not seen them you should treat yourself.
Plenty of fog, lasers, an incredible light show.
And your ears will ring for several hours.
Literature can be similar to music. It can change your mood, provide an escape from reality, amplify reality, and provide insight and new thoughts.
One of my favorite authors has always been Charles Dickens. With Christmas music playing daily on my radio, his classic A Christmas Carol would be the expected writings to reflect upon, and while it is a special story to me, it is not the piece that crosses my mind this evening.
My life has been wonderful even though it has been punctuated with tragedy and change. Often in times of turmoil and change I reflect upon, A Tale of Two Cities. I frequently find solace from the first and the last paragraphs of the book, and tonight is one of those times.
The first paragraph reads…
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of the noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”
To me this typifies pivotal points in our lives. We are excited about the new paths in front of us, and we have hope for a better future. Life is vibrant and our senses are heightened. Colors are more vivid; aromas are stronger. We can feel each tick of the clock, though the minutes are passing too quickly for comfort because change is upon us and we worry about what is the right direction.
We fear the unknown that lies ahead, we lament leaving the comfort of our current situation, and we wonder if life will be the same, and wish time would pass more quickly so we can be out of our current period of discomfort.
This very real paradox is what the first paragraph of A Tale of Two Cities captures incomparably well. You know you are on the precipice of great change.
The last paragraph succinctly defines our final hope for the future…
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
In one sentence it completely embodies the confidence and faith we want to have in our hearts at the end of our lives when all those decisive moments are tallied.
Next time you feel life is chaotic and you are unsure of your future, I hope these two paragraphs give you some comfort. You are not alone in your hopes and fears, and may you find that far better rest than you have ever known.
The following poem touched me the moment I read it. At the time I had recently fallen in love with English Wife, and while it definitely harmonized with my feelings at that time, it also strikes a chord with something deep, timeless and independent of anyone else. It describes the personal visions and feelings of a soul that has lived as well as loved.
This is a truly great piece of writing. It impressed me enough that I read it at my wedding to English Wife. The poet, Nancy Delaney, is relatively unknown, but with a bit of effort I was able to track her down and correspond with her briefly. Sadly I got the impression she felt this piece was her greatest work and she would never create anything equal to it. I hope she is wrong; we need to hear more from this voice. With Nancy Delaney’s permission, I now share her poem with you.
Untitled
By Nancy Delaney
There are seasons, deep and splendid,
when each heart sees where it flows,
estimates the time for leaving,
tells the distance, then it goes;
does not hesitate nor falter,
neither turns nor seeks reply
to the hundred unasked questions;
wipes no tear, bids no good-bye;
sings the chilly breath of morning,
sings the silent silver rain,
sings itself in perfect cadence:
endless joy to ceaseless pain;
knows the price of freedom’s vision,
keeps no treasure on the shelf,
hobbled by the need for comfort,
pushes hard against itself;
sees the once familiar sunrise,
smells the storm upon the wind,
wild and free and now unbounded
tastes the salted air again.
Such sweet moments! I have known them.
lying wakeful waiting where
they might find me, recognize the
tired step upon the stair,
take my hand, release the spirit,
let the blood of life’s regret,
there in silence learned forgiveness,
sorrows I could not forget,
and my heart, a winter sparrow,
shivering but glad of snow,
humbled by the cold rejoinder,
stumbled but did not let go.
Minutes savored, felt, remembered,
like a fabric sewn and torn,
life becomes a coat of hours
huddled into, through a storm,
folded for a handy pillow,
tossed upon a chair in haste,
then, regarded from a distance,
sought, desired, longed for, chased –
then the seasons mend the fabric,
fortify, delight, renew…
yet I’d trade them all and gladly
for one moment close to you.
I have heard the magic echo,
incantation, perfect hymn
singing soft of steel gray winter,
autumn reaching from within,
celebrating songs of seasons,
spring in sparkling painted skies,
the shuddering release of summer;
mysteries written in your eyes…
But I’ve not found in all the miles,
in all the seasons I have known,
words to tell how deep or why…
The heart has reasons of its own.
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Photo: Unknown mountains in the Romanian countryside taken by me in July 2006.
Family and Holidays have become more problematic over time. Divorce, death, aging, and distance seem to have taken a toll on the once ideal vision I had of a close family. While I still love my brother and sister, and would do anything within my power to help them, we are not close anymore. The daily exchanges of thoughts, sharing of meals, living under one roof, and laughing and playing have been gone for decades. It has eroded to occasional phone calls and obligatory gatherings for Holidays.
No one is to be blamed for the situation, or if there is, it must be spread equally among my siblings and me. My mother has tried her best to prevent it and she makes regular calls and visits to each of us, but father has been dead for a few years, divorce has changed the players, and increased the number of obligations. Combine those things with three siblings that are each very different, and each focused in disparate career and personal goals, and a two hour drive between us and the result is something less than I had expected as a child.
While the situation causes some sorrow from time-to-time. It is not one I am going to change. I am probably making the situation worse because I don’t want to attend the obligatory gatherings anymore. I just find it too empty. I’d rather just have a coversation with my brother and sister over a sandwich and soda, and I may try to do that instead of attending the Holiday rituals. Honestly I think I enjoy spending the Holidays with friends, relaxing, and going to movies and museums more.
I watched a PBS program, Family That Walks On All Fours this evening. It highlighted the life of a large, poor Turkish family the Ulas, with five adult family members that walk on all fours. The program focused on the excitement within the scientific community about the possibility that the family’s situation might provide us insight into the genes responsible for bipedalism.
The scientific aspects were mildly interesting but the real story for me was the humanity, or lack thereof in the situation. With just a little looking behind the main story you could see how culture, religion, and economics worked against the Ulas. How the scientists were interested in the situation to further their own theories, knowledge and reputation. Everyone was investigating and debating the causes of this family’s plight as a means to prove their theory, but one person, Defne Aruoba, stepped up and said she really didn’t care about the cause. She wanted to help change the family’s situation for the better and screw the scientific theory.
Defne Aruoba is a Turkish psychologist based in Istanbul and a doctoral candidate at the New School for Social Research in New York. It appears her role in the program was planned to be a minor one of translator for the more famous and senior scientist in the film. She was also to perform some basic psychological tests on the affected Ulas family members, to determine their intelligence and mental condition. However to me Defne is the star. She placed her role as scientist second to being a humanitarian.
In one snippet within the film, you see Aruoba arguing with the lead scientist to stop focusing on the theory and take the limited time they have with the family to help them. She emphasized that no one so far had really tried to help the family and it was within their means to do so.
“I don’t know what caused their disability. But I am positive that these people can be helped.”
After Aruoba’s impassioned appeal to the lead scientist you see a local physical therapist is hired to evaluate the family and help with rehabilitation. A walker is purchased and parallel bars are constructed in the family’s yard for them to be able to practice walking upright. Aruoba has even started the Ulas Foundation to raise money to help the Ulas family.
Her efforts made me shed a tear, and inspired me to read more about the story. I went to the PBS website to get more information. From what I read it was obvious that Aruoba was deeply moved by her experience with the Ulas family, and in turn she moved me. I hope you join me in saluting Defne Aruoba and all of those that stand up and make a difference.
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This is my first foray into “blogging”. I am not sure what to make of it. I have only read a few blogs online at this point but will read more soon. I like the idea of creating a diary of some sort. It could be therapeutic, and it could create a map of where I’ve been to look back upon and chronicle progress towards my goals.
Sharing it could be scary. It is a narrow slice of a person and lacks all of the details, background, and scope that really make the person, and it is intimate. I know I’ll be judged by those reading it, and if my photos are any clue, my thoughts will be liked by some and ridiculed by others. So be it.
Let’s just see where it goes.
