If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
Music. Many friends and family over the years were invited to choose a song, and join in at Dad’s side, by Dad’s music stand. He had several guitars and a steadfast drum machine providing the perfect rhythm and heartbeat to any song. You were invited to play on whatever instrument you had, or sing, or even shake a tambourine or egg maraca for the less skilled and self assured.
Dad was a performer, but also much more than that. He had that burning energy of creation deep within and he knew how the shared ritual of bringing together music, time, space, and those you love could create a transcendent experience of the sublime. For a man who held a life long passion of the written word, he held an equal passion for this alternate form of expression.
Below, I join Dad for a singalong in the makeshift basement studio a couple of years ago.
The music stand had originally been purchased for me in junior high during my foray into learning to play the French horn, and was later used as I sought to master the flute in high school. As life took me away from the flute, Dad repurposed it as his music stand. It travelled to many a gig, and had its home in his music studio space.
He had provided me with a guitar and encouraged me to play over the years. My sensitive fingertips could never get past the breaking in stage despite best intentions. He passed along a tuner to tune my guitar, and tuned it as recently as a year ago. Although I still love my guitar, I’ve never gotten past a very rudimentary level due to the pain barrier. Regardless, I would join in with Dad to sing, to play, in whatever way I could, along side him over the years.
Then came July 29. The Breaking. The day the music, my music died. I haven’t been able to listen to songs since. Slowly, with healing, I was able to listen to ambient and jazz, but I’ve not progressed past this yet. My soul is not joyful enough to listen to and embrace music yet….
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will
This birthday was a deeply painful one, my first without Dad. Amidst the darkness and mourning I was blessed with a gift of the beautiful Roosebeck Heather harp. The harp is just the perfect size, serious enough to be able to play different keys with levers, but much less formal than concert harps. The name was simply calling to me, it seemed like too good of a sign to be true.
Being gifted now with this beautiful instrument during these darkest of winter days and the darkest nights of my soul made me realize the powerful transformative opportunity before me. Perhaps music would help me in my healing journey…
If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
I found the tuner Dad had given me and tuned the harp. I had the exercise books to start, but I was missing… a stand. And so over 30 years after Dad had taken it over, I lovingly took the stand that had given Dad so much joy over the years to my home, and set it up.
Below, my harp beside the music stand and red tuner. My rescue rabbit Skye sniffs the new curiosity.
If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
The vibrations of the strings fill the room. They are strong but gentle with my tender heart. Slowly I’m learning to play. The past year I have very much felt the mercy of fate. I’ve been cast off my moorings and been adrift on an endless sea. The series of events leading to the breaking was such a catastrophic series of failings and misfortunes. My broken heart still cries every day. But I am trying to reconnect with that infinite love. I know Dad would be proud of me learning a new instrument. He would no question excitedly suggest a song or two in his catalogue we could try to play together. I hope somehow, he can hear my tenuous notes as I pluck each string. I play every note with love, with love for him.
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well
The quotes interspersing my writings in this post is from Leonard Cohen’s prayer-song If It Be Your Will. Dad and I shared a love of Leonard Cohen’s poetry and songs, and he took me with Mom to a magical concert long ago. Two backup singers – the Webb sisters, otherwise known as “Cohen’s angels” – took centre stage, one with guitar, one with harp, to perform this song and leaving the audience breathless and enchanted. A magical evening ending with each lady receiving a red rose from Cohen.
And to draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
I realized yesterday, as I was playing the harp, just what I needed to do. It was one of those moments where the forest growth parts a la Enchanted Beauty, and a path opens before you.
Above, harp music for If It Be Your Will
Although the song is a reach beyond my beginner harp skills, along with my weekly etudes, I will slowly, methodically begin to learn the song, measure by measure. And so my journey of healing and trying to transform my pain and anguish to meaning continues.
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will
And end this night
If it be your will
(Leonard Cohen, If It Be Your Will)
Oh, to end this night…
Webb sister’s haunting performance of If It Be Your Will, with introduction by Leonard Cohen, is here: https://youtu.be/O_XcMAGZjuY?si=dj1Jyl_d54XaYEL7