This week has presented plenty of opportunities for me to cry.
Car broke down in Red Oak... no tears.
iPhone (most prized possession) dies... no tears.
Horrific argument with my father... no tears.
Eisley lyrics... no tears.
Feeling serious hurt for a good friend dealing with unrequited love... no tears.
At first, I believed it was because I was getting stronger.
Then, I feared it was because I was becoming numb.
At last... it happened.
Dvorak: Symphony No. 9 From the New World (4th Movement)
That piece of music has meant so much to me. Everything it represents parallels my life.
The Music Itself: The beginning is so haunting. Like a warning to step away or something horrible is going to happen. But, as you draw your freshly rosined bow across the four strings, you find yourself getting lost in the beauty of the music. Even the haunting beginning is beautiful. Certainly it requires a swift movement of your wrist and the careful positioning of your body, but in order for the music to transform into a story it requires something more. Soul. Visible passion. The convulsion of your body as your whole being pours into telling the story. By the end of the piece, you are exhausted. Your bow needs to be rosined. You have nothing more to give. You wonder if it was worth giving anything at all. Why did you not listen to the ominous melody of the opening bars?
The Past: It has been 3 years since we all played this wonderful piece on a stage together for a man we loved. He taught us how to grow, how to love, and how to pick up the pieces when everything fell apart. 2005 was such a wonderful year for me. We began working on the Dvorak then, and the eerie beginning (although obviously ominous) seemed so playful. It was fun to step in someone else's shoes for a while. As spring came, and we poured more of ourselves into the piece it became clearer that we were living the story. Something was not right. Sure enough, summer came and tore everything apart. My heart was shattered, my dad spent most of the summer in the hospital, Wyatt was shot, and Stringer left us. That's the price we pay for becoming so wrapped up in the music's story.
The Present: Despite the incredible amount of strength depicted in the piece, I feel an overwhelming amount of weakness each time I hear it. I love how it still connects all of us. One of the eight posts it somewhere, and we all know we are in the same place: abandoned, feeling insecure, wondering if what we give will ever be enough. One feels the hurt for all eight, and we all cry. This piece brought out the best in us one night on a stage, but now highlights our every faults. Oh, how it depicts all of my frustrations. A piece of music without lyrics says all the things I can not say. It says all the things I would never dare to say. As I hurt for a friend that is hurting (outside the eight) I wonder if I should pass on this music to him. I wonder if it will offer him the same twisted hope it offers all of us. Maybe he will come out of it like we all did: so much stronger, braver, and human.
Oh, Dvorak. Do you know what you have done to my soul? To my head? It is more clouded than ever. I tried to listen to Greig's Ase's Tod, but it does not evoke the same emotions it once did. Oh, you frustrate me with your genius craftsmanship of lines and spaces. I pray I remain brave. I pray I know when to crescendo and decrescendo. I pray I know when to rest and when to play with my frog close to the bridge.
