12:50 PM, 15 May
Gete,
Tramonti (SA)
I came here for a couple of days of relax, as they say here. I rose very late. I haven’t left the room and its terrace, not even for a coffee. I have certain artists plugged into my head – Peter Tosh, Fats Waller, Clyde McPhatter, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Coleman Hawkins – an endless playlist of nostalgia and hard-won wisdom. These aid reflection.
There isn’t much to look at here except the moody
skies and descending mist, which is cloaking the green hills with another
microlayer of protection against the coming summer. The lower hills, rounded and terraced to the summits, are
fertile today, remnants of an infernal vulcanism many ages ago. The highest are too steep and
rock-ribbed for anything but some clear-cutting where the soil is thickest and
the trees are in the rain shadow.
These things aid reflection.
Reflection should be the aim of rest, riposo, true relaxation. Vacation, where you empty yourself of
everything you need to rid yourself of.
If only for a brief respite.
Few of us elect to let go that much. Mystics and spiritual directors, among others, tell you to
let things go and block things out so as to let the soul speak to you in its
hesitant whispers. The trick is to
listen without seeming to. Try
hard and it stays mute.
These hours have given me the unhurried measure to
reflect on my various lives, le mie vite,
but it’s strange that the most vivid and moving memory has nothing to do with
me at all. I didn’t even know the
names of the people. I’m not even
sure of the date or season.
Sometime in the 90s. I do
remember that. I was living in
Akron, Ohio.
There was some sort of adult education program at
my church. (I used to go to
church.) The guest speaker was a
retired rabbi. After his talk, he
opened it up to questions. A very
small, neat lady in her 60s, who sat somewhat to the right of me, posed a
question that almost broke my heart this morning.
She asked the rabbi if he thought there really was a heaven. Because, she said, missed her husband so terribly; they had always loved each other so.
I
have never heard so much love and loneliness expressed so directly, so urgently
or with such raw sincerity.
I don’t remember what the rabbi said. He seemed taken aback by the woman’s ache to know.
I do remember that
he answered her with tenderness and kindness. He offered hope.
Lovely post, Strappo! Sei un' stracciacuore...
marco
Posted by: marco raimondi | May 17, 2009 at 12:55 PM
Marco, that's the mood I was in all day. For some reason, I felt my heart was breaking. The past lay heavily on me.
Thanks, MR.
Posted by: TH | May 17, 2009 at 01:35 PM