Historical Musings.....and Music

Last night I had the opportunity to listen to one of the most talented musical groups I have ever known, in a beautiful and historical setting. I was listening to the Valentin Berlinsky Quartet at the Zunfthaus zur Waag (in the courtyard of the Fraumunster Church).

These are the moments when I really appreciate how special it is to be here.

Here I am, listening to an amazing group of performers, who I have had the opportunity to meet and know personally through friends here, in a building that existed during the lifetime of the composer whose pieces were being performed.....I sat there, looking around and imagining how many times that piece has been performed in a place here in Zurich. It gives such depth to the experience to not only hear music beautifully performed, but to be in such an intimate and rich setting.

I had to take some photos:

Summer Rain

You know it is interesting, I have noticed that I always make blog posts when I am at my best, or have had some amazing or enlightening experience. It makes for light and happy reading, but it is not really the reality of my life right now. Sure, it is a part of the reality, but it is truly not the whole picture.

The reality is, I am deep in grief a good deal of the time these days.

I am in a situation now where I am staying in a friend's apartment (cat-sitting) for the next 2 and a half weeks. It has removed me just enough from my "normal" existence so that the full weight of my current reality has had a chance to catch up with me. I feel the truth of my existence, alone. All my adult life I have had a steady partner, someone I could rely on, trust, share with. Now I do not. Don't get me wrong, I have awesome friends, (which I am amazingly grateful for) but anyone who says that friends are a substitute for that someone special is fooling themselves. We all know that, right?

Being here alone has been a little like some kind of retreat, some kind of enforced silent meditation. The apartment is situated in a very quiet pastoral setting, I bike to work, I do yoga in the morning sunshine, I feed the kitties (we try to talk, but they just don't get me ;)

I cannot escape the thoughts or feelings that come, and I cannot fool myself about the reality of my transitional situation, so I just have to sit with these thoughts and feelings, get to know them, give them some space, accept the pain that comes, and then try to let them go. I know that over time, I will heal. I know that over time I will feel strong and whole again. But damn, this part is hard.

So that is where I am tonight, sitting in a friend's apartment, listening to the birds singing and the gentle patter of the rain and feeling sad. But I know you are all out there, and I know that this is not my life. I am walking the long uphill path to something new.

Well Met

I met a woman on the tram today. It was one of those situations where I had carefully chosen the seat that I knew was least likely to attract a fellow passenger. She tottered right up and asked if she could sit. Of course, I said. (Imagine this in Swiss/High German)

Immediately I knew, she was a talker. The majority of the people I encounter in my daily life here could care less if the person next to them was engulfed in flames, but every once in a while, you meet these people who really respond to that American openness. They want to talk.

A good three quarters of them are mildly to majorly crazy.

I quickly summed up this lady, judging weather I needed to make a break for it at the next stop. 30 minutes later I was glad I hung in there.

This woman is 83 years old. She has lived in the Zurich area all her life, swimming there in the lake (one of her favorite pastimes), hiking in the mountains, and living her life. As we passed Burkliplatz,

From Christmas in Switzerland

she couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the snow covered mountains and the sun-drenched water. She has seen it almost every day of her life here, but was viewing it with open eyes, seeing the beauty as fresh and new.

She shared with me not only stories from her life, but the power and fire that has fueled her journey. She is in the moment and so alive. Blind in one eye, and no longer able to do all the things she once loved, but without regret and without despair. Her family has passed away, and most of her friends are gone or ill, but she still loves to walk in the mountains, and is strong and grateful for her health. None of this was posturing from her side. Just genuine love for life...the joy of a life well lived.

When we got to my stop (at my garden) I bid her farewell. She took my hand in hers and wished me a wonderful life, and much joy. It is the greatest blessing possibly I have ever received.

I walked away feeling very young, and very hopeful for the years ahead.