SingDanceSpeakSpirit

I heard about an institution in Albuquerque, New Mexico that aims to provide a place for spiritual reflection and connection for non-church-goers. It was founded by a musician who had experienced the sacred through his work with and relationship to classical music.

It's called the Church of Beethoven, and I wish we could go, because I believe art often connects us with the divine, and the idea of local artists using their time and talents to create an experience of worship for other community members is just stunning and lovely. Instead of edu-tainment, it's soul-tainment. Or something like that.

Apparently, the man who began it all, Felix Wurman, hopes other people will eventually begin their own offshoots in other cities across America. I think, if I started one, it would be the Church of Bach... I find him particularly linked to something transcendental and spiritually transportive.

Someday I'd like to do a series of dance pieces set to the Bach cello suites recorded by Yo-Yo Ma back in 1998. It was something I never quite got to for Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind. Perhaps there will be some forum in the future wherein my personal exploration of how that music connects me more firmly to the world might be shared with others looking for a similar union.

Articles of Faith

Andy shared a story with me recently, wondering what my reaction to it might be. Apparently, Obama placed a prayer in the Western Wall during his visit to Jerusalem... and someone removed it.

Not only did this person remove the prayer, but he/she then shopped it around to at least two papers until someone decided to publish it.

My initial reaction was a mixture of anger and disbelief. Jay Torrence once wrote a play about his experience at the wall for Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind, and I always felt it was one of the most beautiful monologues about faith to ever grace our stage.

His description conveyed a sense of communal worship that was equal parts collective and individual connection to God. Something sacred, something ritualistic, and something important to each person who made that journey.

Although I have tried to step back in the last couple of days to see if I can feel more compassion for those who made decisions ultimately leading to the publication of the prayer, it is difficult to understand or empathize with such a stark disregard for someone's privacy and personal pursuit of spirituality--no matter who it might be.

I have read reactions stating it was a photo op he took and might therefore be a hollow action, but irrespective of his intentions, the sanctity of the Western Wall and the many prayers placed there should, in my mind, take precedence over everything else.

Every action creates ripples. I wonder what aftereffects will flow out over time?

My own bit of prognostication:

We happened upon a show about Edgar Cayce, the psychic, on the History channel tonight. I knew a bit about him already because my father and husband are both fans of his. But the special is very interesting and as I realized I had not yet written my blog for the night (I was working very late on a paper due next week), my husband suggested I write about a play I created and performed back in 2003 in Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind. The play was later turned into a beautiful peice of art by my friend Noelle Krimm, who comissioned John Randall (a board member and resident set designer who had been an art teacher earlier in his life). She gave it to me at my baby shower.

My husband did not see the connection between the TV show we were watching and the suggestion he had made, but I thought it interesting enough to merit an entry, along with finding it oddly syncronistic.

The play (which reads better as a poem) kind of speaks for itself, but it's based on an event that took place while I was studying abroad in London back in 1994. Essentially, I was sitting in the living room of our flat, smoking a cigarette and drinking tea... and I spoke the name "Ariana" - immediately aware that this was my daughter-to-be. I sort of felt a ripple threw the room and got some goosebumps, along with a sharp, powerful sense of who she was, which led to this:

You are blond.
You have blue-green eyes, like your mother.
You are tiny and fast... my little elf-child.
A little Buddha with ancient knowing.
You get dirty when you play outside, your hands and face covered with

smudges of the outside world when you come home for dinner.
You don’t like peas, or cooked carrots.
Or maybe you love peas and cooked carrots and hate corn.
You eat Cheerios from the box when you watch tv.
You love fresh fruit and orange soda and being sung little songs.
You ask questions and point to the sky.
You make friends quickly.
You don’t understand why you can’t talk to strangers.
You adore your father.
You dance around the house to music only you can hear.
You give little bunny kisses before bed.
You assert your independence.
You demand to be heard.
You pet the dog gently, and ask if you can feed him.
You tell me you love me, and my heart feels

too small to contain the joy of loving you back.

(In case you are wondering about my accuracy - those of you who have never met Ari - she likes peas, cooked carrots, and corn; she tends to eat Cheerios in a bowl - even when watching TV; she's never had orange soda, so I have no idea about that; she doesn't yet ask why she can't talk to strangers, but that may yet come; and she has a tendency to be less than gentle with our dog, Simon, who we got in 2004. Otherwise, the rest of it is pretty darn accurate.)