Singers at Siesta

It was on the first day at the park when we saw him playing the guitar, sitting between statues. 

He had put his empty red canvas case on the ground -- so as to collect euros.

 His voice was lovely and although we were walking, we stopped and sat.

When he sang – and when he sang – we were moved.  

Such a low and sweet and quiet tone.

   

Dulce.
We listened to one song and then another...and another.  
 Beautiful, really.

I sent her over with a coin and to ask him if it was his own music – her language was so much better – and he answered the name of another songwriter but alas, I have forgotten it.

All at once three policemen approached.  They seemed to ask ‘do you have a permit?’ – he seemed to produce one.   They said ‘you cannot perform here and now.’

They said ‘people are resting here in the park’.

‘It is, after all, time for siesta.’

It was 16.00.

It is time for siesta, they said.
   People in the park are sleeping.

I looked around and saw children hiding in the hedge maze.
No one was sleeping.

The beautiful and low and pleasing which wakes us…is worth the disturbance.    Totally worth it.

And now it is Sunday.  Coming up from the metro, we see him on the landing, singing his sweet song.    He nods at us, smiling, recognizing the strangers:

Us.

We had walked all over the city.   We had gone from Metro stop to stop...walking calles to avenidas and back again.   Like a mad rush to see the city, to feel that city, we didn't want to miss a thing.

It is one thing to hurry about and see everything and yet another to feel it all.

It is one thing to see a plaza full of tourists...quite another to sit and taste the olive oil, eyes closed to focus on the flavor, face turned towards the sun in a distant sky.

Let's go to there again, she said to me.   Let's go and have a siesta.

It is that time of day.

And so we went -- to Parque de Oriente.
 

We have returned!   

We sat in a different place that time: between two statues.

This time I rested.

My eyes are closing.   

She is reading to me from the bible – her homework.

There are families walking by us – returning from church.   Many pregnant women, babies in strollers.   Very young women, actually, wear flowers in their hair, as adornment.   They actually wear church clothes and they actually cool themselves with hand fans.

Of course he was there...in the place where we saw him first.

But this time we could not hear his smooth song as clearly.   His voice is trumped by the soprano on the other side of the maze, singing Mozart on a platform to a gathering...but with a microphone.

She sings Moon River – in Spanish.  "two drifters, off to see the world, it's such a lovely world..."

My companion is now reciting the story of Noah…and I am listening.   Between the guitarist and the soprano and the reading….I am strangely moved.

I am crying.

“it is such a lovely world to see…”  es un mundo tan hermoso a la vista…

She rolls into Somewhere over the Rainbow.  algún lugar sobre el arco iris…

Just then Noah sends out the dove.   It returns.  He sends out another, it returns.  The third goes out and finds a branch upon which to rest.  

When it does not return then Noah knows that it is time.   

Time for them all to rest.

Time for siesta.

Time for the rainbow.

I am thinking of the arias across the park and the olive oil (I can't seem to get enough!) and how I keep being scolded for saying grazie instead of gracias.

God tells him “look up at the heavens and count the stars – if indeed you can count them – so shall your offspring be”.

And now she begins Stranger in Paradise…

Take my hand,

I'm a stranger in Paradise

All lost in a wonderland

A stranger in paradise

If I stand starry eyed,

That's a danger in Paradise

Mortals who stand beside

Angels like us.

Is it redundant to write a Parque as Paradise?

 The soprano begins Love Story.  

And indeed, I think, looking around me, it is.

It is such a lovely world to see…

We are about to stand up – she is reading that Sarah is laughing.

I am laughing as well.   The songs seem to be narratives for our day, chosen just for us.

Waking us to the beauty all around – and inside.

And we are about to stand up, about to walk away.

I take out two euros to give to the young man, on our third occasion to see him.

...because people come back into our lives, again and again.
  
they just do.

And just, just as we are walking away…the soprano begins Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. 

We laugh and sing along.

Chaos, Kindness & The Flood of Garlic.

To write this, I wrote it five times -- and then a sixth.  It was still a mess.    

I printed it out and with my green pen I scratched out everything.   

Well, almost everything -- so I could start again.

I haven’t been able to think straight – too much on my mind.  I needed a little something.   

Then I woke this morning thinking of garlic.

If you use a little garlic it is amazing.  It adds that special something to everything you eat.  It is almost magical the way it transforms a dish.    

For some, garlic is their favorite thing.    Like water, they can't live without it.  It gives our food – depth.  It makes things interesting.  

But too much – indigestible.   It keeps vampires, friends and even lovers at a distance.

(although, I read once that it’s okay if you both have it….)

If you use too much garlic it masks the flavors of everything else.  It tastes like chaos.    Your senses became flooded – they are only aware of the garlic.

I haven’t been able to write because my brain is flooded.   I have a lot of worries – like my father and his mother before him, I am a worrier.  

There, I said it. 

You will probably tell me that I am irrational -- 

-- but it is my birthright.

I could make a list.  

In no particular order…

my broken pipe 

my patients.

the coming winter.

The Middle East

School shootings.

I have a bathtub in my doorway.  Don’t ask.

I worry that my house will not be organized.

That my house will not be clean.

That I won’t have time and energy to do it all.

  That I will forget my Italian

  That I will forget Hebrew.

That I will forget what I just said.

That I will forget what I just said.

Er...that I will forget what I just said.

  That I will use too much garlic.

   Strangely, I am not worried about the upcoming election.

   But I worry that I am eating too much salt -- too much sugar.

   I worry about gluten.

   I worry that I will say something to offend someone.

   Yes, it seems that I am very self-involved.   In fact, I worry that I am too self-involved.

   But I do worry about hunger.

   I worry about homelessness.   

I worry that I am worrying too much.  

Sometimes it is all – too much.    

I used to be a super straight thinker.   Now, it’s all a mess.

I am too much garlic.   Chaos.

I need whiskey.

There was another time when everything became a bit too much.    

God told Noah – build an ark.    Something big is coming.    A flood – a Mabul – is coming.

Mabul – chaos, confusion, cataclysm.  Deluge.  

Mess.

Way Back when God created the world, everything was in chaos.

When it was time to start to make a world, God made a list –   

(God was awesome at creating --  lists.)

one:    separate order from chaos.

two:    separate dark from light.

three:  more garlic.

Now, Chaos is returning.  

Winter is coming.

Back In the time of Noah,  God gave blessings freely. 

Blessings come down from heaven – in the same way that water is a blessing because it rains down from heaven. 

    

Oh how the blessings flowed!:    kosher dill pickles, pesto, hummus, moussaka, baba ganoush, chicken with 40 cloves of...garlic.)    

The blessings gave life depth.  Made life good.

But people took advantage.   They became selfish.  They gorged themselves.

They became violent – fighting over the pastrami.

And they didn’t even bother brushing their teeth.   

God was horrified at their behavior.

You like my blessings?  You like my garlic?  You like depth?

Sure, I’ll give you depth.   Go ahead and drown in it.

When it began, it was too much,    Flooding, chaos, confusion. 

DELUGE.  

The very same thing which had nourished us was now killing us.

Like the dish of an overambitious cook, everything was too much.

The world was drowning. 

  

It was as though God took out a big green pen and scratched out everything -- well, almost everything – to start again.

Chaos,  Noah.   There will be Chaos.    

And before those fragrant cloves begin to fall from the sky,   

Come into the ark.  Bring the animals, bring your family.

Bring Tums.

Build me this ark,  Noah, this teyva – this boat, this box.

It will be,  God says,  almost magical in the way it will transform you.  It will protect you.   I will protect you.   I will give you a taste of The World To Come.  

I will give you whiskey.

You will see how a lamb will be safe from a lion…

Where there will be no predators.

Where even people will not prey on each other -- for a corned beef sandwich –

Or even if only for the pickle.  

When there is chaos, when there is deluge, when there is too much worry, when things fall apart, when it is all much too much and when you are drowning -- it can house your souls and keep you safe.

When the world falls apart I will keep you safe.  

I will keep you safe.

Chaos and flood are not just about marinara sauce.

   It feels like chaos and flood when the waves of trouble in your life are rising – when you lose your job, your health, your safety and your home.

Grace, shelter, the ark are about saving us from the storm that will always come – no matter who you are and your place in life.

There is too much out there.   

There is too much to taste.  

Too much to stomach,

There is too much to feel.   

Man, we are under water.

Our senses are flooded.   Our hearts are flooded.   

We have too much to think about.

Too much to do.   

Too much to feel.

   

Too much worry.   

I could make a list!

You know what I need?   

I need an ark. 

  

I need a place which can shield me from the chaos.   

I need protection from confusion.   

I need protection from myself.

I need a place where I can begin again. 

  I need a place where I can think straight.

I need a place where I can be with my family.

Where no one fights over the food.

Into every life a little rain will fall.    

Most of the time a lot more than a little rain.

And sometimes a lot more than a little garlic. 

  

Sometimes there will be heartburn.

Sometimes there will be fire.   

There will always be illness & there will always be death.   

But it is ok – not to be ok.

We will need shelter.

  

We will need alka-seltzer. 

  

We will need an ark.  

We may need the Divine….

  

We will need a little whiskey.   

We may also need a green pen to scratch things out and start again.

We will need kindness.

And we will need each other.

(as delivered at Temple Beth El in Madison, Wisconsin on Friday, October 24, 2014)

Call Me Sudsy Malone.

Usually this time of year -- as the darkening begins --
I feel myself beginning to withdraw.

Although I do realize that this is the normal time of year for melancholy, I find myself spending a little more time at home, sorting out closets, cleaning drawers, etc.



I have come to realize that I have SAD:

Shampoo Accumulation Disorder.

My life is abundant.
I am wholly blessed with teeny little bottles of personal cleaning products.

My illness began years ago, when we were students.  

Back in the time when the call of "Free Pizza" could tempt us from three counties away and we lived on grocery store ramen soup mixes -- at 19 cents each, and if you stir in an egg....well, hey!  That's protein!

If we had to travel and we would all split a hotel room or the like...and IF little bottles of shampoo were provided for our use....then...

I would, upon checkout, tuck them into my bag.

This seemed like an innocent-enough obsession, or so I thought.  I thought to myself, time after time, 'well, I did pay for them...' and so it would go, me thinking to myself that perhaps I would need them someday.   Perhaps there would be a time that I wouldn't have time to get any shampoo, would not be able to afford shampoo...so I was saving them for a rainy day -- sort of like my grandfather and his post-Depression pencil stubs.

Innocent but crazy -- like all those ladies who steal sugar packets and artificial-sweetener packets from restaurants -- slipping them surreptitiously into their handbags --

Yellow and pink and blue -- the colors of petty crime.

I wouldn't exactly say that I am a criminal -- I am only guilty of foamy infractions.

But to open up the drawer to see it overflowing with samples -- let's just say that I have a serious addiction.  

Why is it that I think that I never have enough?   Why is it that my mother-in-law used to fold up sandwiches in napkins, hiding them in her purse, only to forget about them?

Why did my father save styrofoam and bubble wrap and why oh why oh why was there ever a need for a reality television show called Hoarders?

This is about letting go.

Just as a tree -- at this time of year -- lets its leaves fall, fully trusting that in the spring more will grow, we have to trust that somehow the world will offer a sandwich, bubble wrap, more sweeteners than we ever, ever should have --

And plenty of shampoo.

This obsession is ultimately about trust and fear.

Let go of these pencil stubs.   Life will offer me a way to express myself.

Release these sugar packets -- my life is already filled with sweetness.

Share the bubble wrap and styrofoam...I feel safe and protected without them.

Let go of old, outmoded ideas, clutter, things we no longer need.
Trust that we will have what we need.

I am packing away the itty bitty bottles to repurpose....
trusting that I will be able to wash myself and my soul anew.

I will be able to start again.

Like the trees...

I will have what I need...

for spring cleaning.