Grits

Voting with the Iraqis

I've been hibernating for the past couple of weeks. Not sure why, but nothing was impelling me to "connect the dots" in search of a pattern or meaning. Maybe hibernating isn't quite right, cuz that sounds like I have been sleeping. Quite the opposite -- it's been a period of data gathering, or "dot collecting"! But I have been in a sort of mental "cave."

Bet this has something to do with being a middle child. And a twin. Growing up I learned that there was a lot to be gained by observing what my older sister did first (and got hammered) or my younger sister who was smart, clever and always 10 steps ahead of everyone else (aso eventually got hammered). My twin brother added another dimension being the only boy (never got hammered). I could just sit and watch, like they were my lab experiments, then make my calculated move (rarely got hammered, just as I planned).

So, that's more what I have been doing lately. Observing, testing, and praying a lot. Yep, praying is actually something that I added in my adult years. Had to -- observing the actions of people only goes so far. For me, praying kicks the thinking/assessing/valuing into a spiritual realm that has deep, deep meaning. It has never failed to put me into a mental groove that clarifies and inspires the right move to make.

What moved me today is the Iraqi elections. Sure there are lots of detractors, from Arabs and Americans. But listening to NPR this morning and interviews with Iraqis who had risked life and limb to stand in line, then actually mark themselves as a voter (fingers dipped in ink to prevent voting twice -- OMG, as if the threat of death weren't enough to stop you from voting once!!), made me choke.

I know what I feel like everytime I leave the polling place. A bit exhilarated and very satisfied. And it has little to do with what or who I voted for. That's a different emotion that happens around 8:03 (PST) or 11:03 (EST). I can say this after voting in California where the populi has a boatload of propositions/referendums to evaluate every time. (With all the kvetching about the propositions in California, it does have a "town meeting" value where people really do feel like they are closer to running the joint.)

So when I heard a Kurd say, "I had to vote for my country and my region," I got choked up. No one knows but the Iraqis what it cost them to take that huge step. So how can anyone belittle or devalue what happened on Sunday, regardless of the messy, chaotic route we all took to get there?

When I turn my eyes from the news and search for deeper meaning, the groove that resonates for me is that every man, woman and child is inherently free -- free to express who they are, what they think, how they pray.

It's the freedom to do good, and it is the means and the end for living one life for all life. Voting is a teeny expression of saying, "I'm standing for order, for principle, for right thinking and right acting. And I am joining with my brothers and sisters." One person does make a difference, but oh wow, thousands of people doing the right thing is...exhilarating.

I am praying for the Iraqi people, now more than ever. My observations of people tell me the rubber-band has a tendency to snap back to its original shape. Gotta lift into the spiritual realm for inspiration and support for all right action to take place.

It's my small way of voting with the Iraqi people.

Small gestures, big power.

Probably the best time I have had at a symphony concert was the program where the Cal Band came marching into Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco. 100+ musicians, brass, drums and woodwinds. Yep, the best symphony concert is one without whiny, wimpy strings. The occasion was the re-opening of the hall after a major redesign of the acoustics. The event was a Very Big Deal.

To demonstrate the huge improvement there were different acts placed throughout the entire hall: balcony, dress circle, floor, stage. It was an effective demonstration, plus it gave many community groups the opportunity to play Davies. All the acts were a surprise -- no program and no announcement -- so in addition to the super musicianship, there were lots of oohs and aaahs as the performers were recognized.

The BEST part happened at the end. Second to last group stood to perform from the first-tier balcony. It was a men's chorus and they were wearing dark red blazers and gray flannel trousers. Kind of preppy, but whatever. The tune sounded vaguely familiar -- and not in a good way, if you know what I mean.  Then, almost at the same time several hundred of us knew EXACTLY the tune and the fratty looking guys and we collectively hissed. It was a black-tie event so we were pretty well-mannered, but there was no mistaking. An enemy in our midst.

It was the Stanfurd Men's Chorus singing the Stanfurd fight song a cappella (yeah, totally wussey).

You gotta understand, Cal alums are EVERYWHERE in San Francisco. First of all, kids who live in the Bay Area want to go to Cal, even if it is 10 minutes away. So they ain't leaving when they graduate. And kids who live in Timbuktu want to go to Cal, duh. Once they live in the Bay Area, why in the world would they leave? (Let's ignore for the moment that I left...there are rare exceptions.)

What a great set-up for the next act. We politely clap, mumbling across the non-Cal alums to each other "who the heck was in charge of the playlist here?"

Then, faintly from the foyer the unmistakeable drum cadence that makes a True Blue weep. The doors burst open and the entire Cal Marching Band playing a REAL fight song marches down the aisles to the stage. Pandemonium!! It was cool.

When I played piccolo in my high school band I was asked to join the orchestra. It wasn't cuz the conductor wanted me, he wanted the piccolo because it was owned by the school district. But the only way he was going to get it was to bring me along because the band got first dibs on the piccolo. (Yeah! Justice! Bands Uber Alles!)

I didn't have to think about it very long. Although I loved playing (it truly is the only thing that made high school bearable) I would have had to get up an hour earlier. Come on, you remember when sleep was king! But the biggest reason was I just didn't like the orchestra sound, at least the way kids played it. Give me a clarinet squeak over a screeching violin any day. If it wasn't gonna be good, at least make it LOUD.

OK, so now here's the story I really wanted to share. Last night I attended the Boston Symphony, James Levine conducting. OMG. Deeply moving. Not sure why, because all the instruments that I dislike showed up. But my favorites did have starring roles, which helped: piccolo, oboe, french horns, and the timpani. Oh man, the timpani rocked me to the core.

Two Sibelius pieces and a commissioned piece by Babbitt making its debut. But it wqsn't the music per se that affected me. I think it was the way it was performed...led by James Levine. Read about him for years, but this was the first time I have ever seen him in action. It was a total surprise.

For all the reputation of this conductor, I expected big dramatic movements, constantly sweeping arms -- a pulling, stretching and cajoling of the orchestra as it is playing. Work Work Work. This is not Levine's style. Or, more to the point, his being.

His movements are small, spare, minimal. Gestures, really, not movements. But the attentiveness of each musician, the precision synched to each restrained stroke from Levine is what surely evoked the mastery and meaning of these pieces.

Watching Levine made me think of the true definition of "meekness". A friend of mine once described it as the frontline of a football team just before the snap. Nothing has happened, and all this power is ready to be unleashed, but it is the moment of "poised to act" with awesome power that is actual meekness. It's the opposite of weakness, which is the common and erroneous definition.

Small, meek gestures, a nano-second before the unleashing of the orchestra's power -- not of sound, but of the composer's meaning. Wow.

Maybe it's just me, but a band is so transparent to the feelings of passion. Whether it is patriotic or school loyalty or just simply spirited, the point of a band is to wind everyone up. Gives another dimension to the meaning of something. But no subtlety, that is for sure.

This meekness, this subtle "poise" with power, but not using it I want to know more about. How could I express that in a day? Especially when, as Levine showed, you can encourage the power to come from those around you?

How do you see the unicorn?

Remember a few years ago when people got a kick out of staring at a very complex graphic that just looked like a big puzzle -- except when you stared at it long enough (squinting your eyes and relaxing) another graphic supposedly popped out, usually a Unicorn.

I never saw the Unicorn. In my family, two of the kids saw it, two did not. Looks of pity from my siblings egged me on, but after 15 minutes nada. I have various theories as to why that is so, ranging from the realists vs. the idealists to the impatient vs. the patient. Well, most likely it is probably because two are scamming the other two!

Anyway, even though I never saw the picture-in-the-picture, I actually believe in the idea that "things are not what they appear to be." Especially with people. The "interface" that is often presented to others can often hide the true identity of what the person really is.

Today, for instance. I was driving along a  busy 4-lane road in Boston. We weren't going very fast, maybe 20 mph, and the two lanes going my direction slowed down. Truck in my lane so cars were merging in the next lane. Several cars are being very polite (I know, hard to believe in Boston), allowing cars to orderly weave in. Except for the guy next to me. He kissed the bumper in front of him preventing me from weaving in.

I didn't get upset, just shook my head and watched as he merged into my lane and then speed up to prevent another car from merging. Phew! Takes energy to be that mean, I thought...not for me.

And then a surprise. Not a 100 yards down the road I see the guy brake. No cars in his path -- what's up? As I get closer, I see a little field mouse running lickety-split across the road. Mr. Meanie braked for a mouse!

Huh, I said. I see a Unicorn.

Sometimes it isn't so obvious. Like in a meeting or working with colleagues. Or husband ;-). I gotta work it a little -- squint my eyes and clear the head of what I think I see and say to myself: what's the real person in there? someone who's better than what appears, kinder, calmer, caring.

And when I see it -- the true image -- it softens me.

Saaay -- maybe the Unicorn is in me too?