Easter

I just love the play on words, which is Also play

and The song which emmenâtes like a perfume
and twisting stretched strings – from guts/sinews

and oh trees and wood.
may our calcined souls learn to sing

and the resultant notes when 2 notes play.
joy

RIse heart; thy Lord is risen.  Sing his praise
                                                  Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
                                                  With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcined1 thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more, just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
                                                  With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name,
                                                  Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
                                                  Pleasant and long:
Or, since all musick is but three parts2 vied
                                                  And multiplied,
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

 

I got me flowers to straw thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, & th’ East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse:
There is but one, and that one ever.

Ни слово, о друг мой

Ни слова, о друг мой, ни вздоха…
Мы будем с тобой молчаливы…
Ведь молча над камнем, над камнем могильным
Склоняются грустные ивы…

И только, склонившись, читают,
Как я, в твоем взоре усталом,
Что были дни ясного счастья,
Что этого счастья – не стало!
Что этого счастья – не стало!

Ни слова, о друг мой, ни вздоха…
Мы будем с тобой молчаливы…
Ведь молча над камнем, над камнем могильным
Склоняются грустные ивы…
Склоняются грустные ивы…

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.

Penguins

I am looking like a penguin on stage performing tricks to gain approval of the audience.

No!!!!

Tradition is sitting on our neck like a monster.
We have to Open our souls.

We are completely naked on stage. This is our job as artists – to make ourselves Vulnerable.
All we need to do is have fun and enjoy like children.

They – the audience – have expectations which we must break.

How can we pretend to be perfect?
We need to experience the music (pain).

We need to forget about stage and audience – we are all one.
We musicians have such a great potential. We always forget that we have the audience’s visual and sound attention.

We musicians have a duty. And it is not about playing right or wrong.
We are in possession of a great power.
Patricia Kousevitsa violinist 2018

A delight of Hafezery :-)

Drinking in – gorging, sweet peach juices dripping with rediscovering these

Stop Being So Religious

What do sad people have in common?

It seems they have all built a shrine to the past, And often they go there and do a strange wail and worship.

What is the beginning of happiness?

It is to stop
being so religious

Like

That.

 

Will Beat You Up

Jealousy
And most all of your sufferings
Are from believing
You know better than God.
Of course,
Such a special brand of arrogance as that
Always proves disastrous,
And will rip the seams
In your caravan tent,
Then cordially invite in many species
Of mean biting flies and
Strange thoughts-
That will
Beat you
Up.

The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.

And one more:
WITH THAT MOON LANGUAGE1
Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”
Of course you do not do this out loud; Otherwise,
Someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this, This great pull in us
To connect.
Why not become the one
Who lives with a full moon in each eye That is always saying,
With that sweet moon Language,
What every other eye in this world Is dying to
Hear.

Zero circle

Be helpless, dumbfounded,
Unable to say yes or no.
Then a stretcher will come from grace
To gather us up.

We are too dull-eyed to see that beauty
If we say we can, we’re lying.
If we say No, we don’t see it,
That No will behead us
And shut tight our window onto spirit.

So let us rather not be sure of anything,
Besides ourselves, and only that, so
Miraculous beings come running to help.
Crazed, lying in a zero circle, mute,
We shall be saying finally,
With tremendous eloquence, Lead us.
When we have totally surrendered to that beauty,
We shall be a mighty kindness.

by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

Seals and Singing

“Late have I loved you, beauty so old and so new:
late have I loved you.
And see, you were within and I was in the external world and sought you there,
and in my unlovely state I plunged into those lovely created things which you made.
You were with me, and I was not with you.
The lovely things kept me far from you,
though if they did not have their existence in you, they had no existence at all.
You called and cried out loud and shattered my deafness.
You were radiant and resplendent, you put to flight my blindness.
You were fragrant, and I drew in my breath and now pant after you.
I tasted you, and I feel but hunger and thirst for you.
You touched me, and I am set on fire to attain the peace which is yours.”

Augustine’s Confessions (Book X.xxvii (38)), translation by Henry Chadwick

Kindle in our hearts, O God,
the flame of love that never ceases, that it may burn in us,
giving light to others.
May we shine
for ever in your temple,
set on fire
with your eternal light,
even your Son Jesus Christ,
our Saviour and Redeemer.
Amen.

prayer of Saint Columba

Bahlasa

…. To arrive in a country with no luggage

well here I am, arriving with a blank page to write a chapter on singing and spirituality. Much baggage inside of fear and doubt and judgement and pride.

oh to leave all that at the door….

‘Bahlasa’: Abbasid-period Arabic, meaning ‘He arrived suddenly from another country without any luggage’.