30 April 2006

I recently enjoyed two phenomenal yet totally different performances—Cavalia, and then five days later, a kirtan with the renowned Krishna Das. Some interesting observations arose...

Cavalia was a series of stunning vignettes of live horses frolicking onstage—running, dancing, and playing—with the women and men who love and care for them. Most of the 41 horses in the show are stallions, and in many scenes they were without bridles or restraints of any kind!  Each section was different, and I was moved to applaud every few minutes—often several times during each chapter of the performance. I was in awe, and the applause came quite spontaneously. For me, and the majority of the other attendees, it was appropriate and seemed natural to express our delight by clapping.

However, a person seated in front of me did not applaud at all during the show, and I wondered, “Why be selfish with applause?  Why hold back?  Why not give yourself to the wonder and joy of these moments?”  I have no answer, only concern and sadness for the person who evidently was not touched as the rest of us were.

Sharing his heart through music and chanting is Krishna Das’ way of serving the Divine within himself and others. Kirtan is chanting, a “call and repeat” wherein a leader sings a line and the group sings it back. I’d never attended a kirtan; my "chanting" is limited to singing along with a CD. But I’m interested.  So...

...on March 29, just a few minutes after 8 PM, Krishna Das sits in a cross-legged position onstage—literally on the stage, having just a small cushion or blanket beneath him—and places his hands on the harmonium. He did not get up, or readjust, or really even move for the next two hours and 20-something minutes. He simply sang, his glorious voice washing over and over us, strong and rhythmic as the sea.

Having little experience with singing in Sanskrit, and certainly not boastful about my Sanskrit pronunciation, I was glad we repeated each line many times. Whether I “got it” or not, at least I had several chances!  I was so focused on hearing and remembering the sounds and melodies, that my mind did not wander for a good two hours. But I know I did shift my seated-in-a-chair position a few times. (What open hips and groundedness he has!  Krishna Das obviously has a dedicated and vigorous asana practice.)  According to the program (aka, the cheat sheet) we sang 16 different chants, some of them 20 words or more each. He chanted this all from memory.

During this remarkable performance, not once did it occur to me to bring my hands together and clap. When the sounds of the final chant faded to stillness, the audience sat silent, at least for a breath.

Thinking back on it, I even feel that we finally broke into applause simply because it’s our Western way of thanking and honoring the performer. We know nothing else. If we could have flowed with the moment, I believe we might have simply sighed deeply and then left the theatre in silence and peace, smiling at each other on the way out.

And so I marvel at the differences between these events. I hold the beauty of each in memory, still deciphering the lessons.

21 January 2006

I saw a remarkable tree several years ago. It was probably 40 feet tall; its trunk was larger around than two people could reach.  And the lower half was totally hollow, just a hollow shell. The remarkable thing is it was still alive - there was a canopy of branches and green leaves at the top!  Amazingly. Inexplicably. Against all odds, this tree was still growing, breathing, reaching, living.

I keep a photo of this tree in a place where I can see it often.