I don't know how it came to me. I think it fell from the sky and I happened to be looking up with my mouth open. I'm not sure that I've swallowed yet, but I've definitely got the taste of it, and I'm chewing.
I want to give in the world so efficiently that there is no energy at all attached to the act of giving. I want it to be effortless and joyful. "Let the piano play itself," says my music teacher, Ben. If you let them, the keys will send your energy back to you as they naturally rise.
So the bit I got from the sky was this: don't do something to "give" it to someone. Do something only because it's a beautiful thing to do.
I love to live in, to do, beautiful things. I imagine this is true of a bird building her nest. Rain forming around particles of dust. Mist reflecting light into the full spectrum we call the rainbow. How much effort?
Somehow, the notion of contribution (even though there is a huge aspect which warms my heart) calls up extra energy for me. It is a step beyond being or doing. There is an attachment I feel in the "sending." Yet, the rainbow does not "send" its light to me or anyone else. It is unaware of its gift, perhaps.
I think I would like to be aware of the gift I have given only as it is received. The feeling of the piano pushing back at me. There it is an extra boost of energy in that resonance to create anew. And to be in that creation only because it is beautiful -- not as a gift to myself or anyone else.
Just to be.
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13 years ago
4 comments:
Hi Girl,
It's very possible to do this. It's the lesson of tales like "Toads and Diamonds." So many people live in an economic world where they keep accounts of what is given and what is owed. In my (humble) opinion this leads to unhappiness, an awareness of shortage and obligation: giving is meeting obligation, receiving is accruing obligation; everything is obligation and accounting.
The only way to be in the world is to not have anything between you and it, no mental accounting, no reckoning, not valuation. Some people call this "flow" but it is simply being connected to beauty.
The film "American Beauty" is about this. You can see some clips on YouTube--it's Max's favorite movie for this reason. The purpose of art is merely to try to express that connection which is why it clashes to then evaluate that art.
What rises in you when you play is the art. For it is god, which is our connection, our oneness with everything around us. You cannot help but be beauty because you are beauty. There is no hesitation to do because the doing is beauty.
It's almost impossible to convey this to people who are hung up on accounting. But you are not, obviously. I'm glad to see that that skin is sloughing off of you, something that you picked up somewhere that is not you.
You are there, girl. Just rise with it.
hugs
a
Rainer Maria Rilke. Sonnets to Orpheus (trans. Stephen Mitchell)
XIII
Be ahead of all parting, as though it already were
behind you, like the winter that has just gone by.
For among these winters there is one so endlessly winter
that only by wintering through it all will your heart survive.
Be forever dead in Eurydice - more gladly arise
into the seamless life proclaimed in your song.
Here, in the realm of decline, among momentary days,
be the crystal cup that shattered even as it rang.
Be - and yet know the great void where all things begin,
the infinite source of your own most intense vibration,
so that, this once, you may give it your perfect assent.
To all that is used-up, and to all the muffled and dumb
creatures in the world's full reserve, the unsayable sums,
joyfully add yourself, and cancel the count.
We can spend our entire lives listening to what has been said and wondering, "did they know?" Did they know the being and the knowing of being? Are they the child? Are they the one and not the many?
Rilke knew--he was the child, but none of his translators do him justice. Nick, it is worth it to learn German just to read original Rilke, just as it is worth it to learn Spanish to read original Paz.
Sei allem Abschied voran, als wäre es hinter
dir, wie der Winter, der eben geht.
Denn unter Wintern ist einer so endlos Winter,
daß, überwinternd, dein Herz überhaupt übersteht.
Sei immer tot in Eurydike-, singender steige,
preisender steige zurück in den reinen Bezug.
Hier, unter Schwindenden, sei, im Reiche der Neige,
sei ein klingendes Glas, das sich im Klang schon zerschlug.
Sei - und wisse zugleich des Nicht-Seins Bedingung,
den unendlichen Grund deiner innigen Schwingung,
daß du sie völlig vollziehst dieses einzige Mal.
Zu dem gebrauchten sowohl, wie zum dumpfen und stummen
Vorat der vollen Natur, den unsäglichen Summen,
zähle dich jubelnd hinzu und vernichte die Zahl.
Be, ahead of endings, as if passing them,
as winter is passed without effort.
For beneath that particular winter is all winter, over which your soul endures without effort.
Be, as singing Eurydice left death as she climbed back to life, cured.
Be, here among the flawed, be in the imperfect realm, be among the crystal glasses that shatter with one tapping ring.
Be, and yet know of ending's definition, on the immortal ground
of your own innermost ringing, that you are fully ringing in this unique time.
Before it all, amid the fullness of Nature and the infinite sum, count yourself in, and the stale and timeworn year is canceled out.
It means the same thing, but not. Words fail, but you have only to look into someone's heart and know that they are the child, that they know. Were that we could be with Rilke, who knew those notes on the piano of which Ken spoke that you called up into your own child's heart.
We are always Spring.
love and hugs,
anne
I loved the Rilke poem when I first read it (thanks, Nick), and, Anne, I think I liked your translation even more. I am sad that I cannot read it as it was written in German, but I do have a lot of years in me (God willing) to work on that one!
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