The joy of being in "flow"

Saturday night I went to the "Art of the Samurai" exhibit at the Met Museum. Included was a brief film about the painstaking process of making a Japanese sword (6 months and 15 people to create one sword). I was so struck by the complete absorption of the craftsmen in the making of the sword. They worked with deliberate care, seemingly outside of (or not conscious of) time.

I told my sister, who was pushing my wheelchair, that I long for activities that require or create that kind of "flow" state in me. I realize now that in my post about "music as a blessing" the blessing was the here and now "flow" state I enter when singing.

Today I sang at Memorial Sloane Kettering Hospital with a small group from our Threshold Choir and the experience was much the same in a very different setting. Dividing my awareness between the patient (and family or visitors if present) and my intention to comfort and uplift by singing, I once again enter the "flow" state. I notice that, as we move from room to room, I prefer not to talk much with my teammates so as not to distract from our purpose.

This experience of flow is worth paying attention to. I think it can be a useful compass for steering in the direction of joy and fulfillment.

Music as a Blessing

I sing in a chorus, started and directed by a professional singer, that requires no auditions. Anyone can come and sing. Its mission is twofold: to allow anyone to experience the pleasure of singing as part of a group, and to heal the community through singing.

I hope the community is healed, but I certainly am sure that I have been. The joy of participating in this group for the past several years has been tremendous. I have learned a great deal and for sure have stretched my musical limits and capacities. Joining my voice with those of others to produce (at best) a beautiful sound brings me into contact with both the ineffable and the tangible. Those waves of sound carry us beyond ourselves and also back to our own heart centers. The feeling is one of losing and of finding oneself at the same time. For me it approaches what people seem to mean when they describe something as sacred.

May the blessing of this music enable my light to shine a little brighter in times of darkness.

Towards the Solstice

The title is not original - it's from a poem by Adrienne Rich. As always at this time of year my thoughts turn to the encroaching darkness. Not that it's unpleasant or fearful, but the shorter days do remind me of endings and of limits.

My mind goes back to the time when, as a 17 year old college freshman, I met a woman named Mary Ann Foley. She was my biology professor, about 10 years older than me and I instantly adored her. She was so full of life and fun that the sun shone brighter in her presence. Our long friendship lasted through my college years, my first and current marriages, her leaving the convent and marrying Ray Callebaut, and her death a few years ago. In an odd twist of fate, she was on dialysis for a little while before she died, as I was for 11 years in the 1980's.

Knowing she was ill and that I probably wouldn't see her in person again, I wrote and told her how much she had meant to me. After she died, a close friend told me that she'd appreciated my letter. I've always been glad I wrote it, and sorry for the many times I've let inhibition or busyness or self-consciousness keep me from saying what's in my heart.

Tonight I've decided to write to an old friend I've not seen in many years & let her know how much I love her. Time is short, the light is waning and these things must be said NOW. As a meditation teacher once said, we must live as if our hair is on fire, because our hair is on fire.