Hear your own music

On Saturday, I relished a restorative-reset-button day. I wandered streets in Port Townsend, WA—vibrant and gladdened by the outdoor markets. Urban Craft Uprising—all local artisans with handmade crafts, wood, clay, glass, jewelry, fabric, painting. And yes, food. And music. All of it, a bit of heaven.
And a few streets over, the Saturday Farmer’s Market with more creativity and imagination in artisan crafts, surrounded and grounded by local homegrown veggies and fruit.
Okay, it wasn’t a life-altering church sermon or homily, but I will say this, “Actually, it was a good bit better than most homilies I hear.” I do know that it did my heart good.

The day was a welcome reminder that during difficult times, “art is more crucial than ever”. In trying times, art nourishes our soul and spirit, reminding us that at our core, we are connected.
I appreciated this quote from Don Wilkinson (New Bedford Light), “I asked South Coast artists whether art mattered given the political and social atmosphere we live in. ‘If there was ever a time, it’s now.’”
I can tell you this, during my day replenishing, I did not check on—or fret about—the news, or listen for alerts on my phone.

But still, I could hear the question rattling in my mind, “When the institutions of society and nation feel endangered, do we have time for the luxury—yes, the frivolity—of creativity, artistry, music, poetry and literature?”
And I’m very grateful for this from the six-member band called the Jethros, “When people in power try to remove our humanity and our dignity, art and music provide a raison d’être. The simple act of making music in difficult times becomes an act of defiance and self-determination. Creation of art and music is cathartic and reinvigorating. It can inspire action, collaboration and resistance… Music eases our minds during difficult times in our lives. It reminds us that we are a community. We are all in this mess together… Music reminds us that even when life is difficult or when the odds are stacked against us, life itself is beautiful and worth celebrating.”

My day—invigorated by the power of art and creativity and beauty—reminded me of a news story from not that many years ago. A story that let me pay attention, inviting questions about what really matters. And let’s be honest, in today’s din, that’s not easy to do.
After 30 years of preaching, the Rev. Howard-John Wesley stood in front of his congregation (Alexandria, VA) and admitted: “I am tired in my soul.”
“I feel so distant from God,” he continued. “One of the greatest mistakes of pastoring is to think that because you work for God, you’re close to God.”
“It’s time for a break,” he tells them.
It’s time for sanctuary. Time for healing.
We do get anxious and discombobulated. Or, just plain tired. So, this kind of honesty is liberating. Because every single one of us could use some healing.
So. What’s the medicine?
While working as a family physician in a Native American hospital in the Southwest, Carl Hammerschlag was introduced to a patient named Santiago, a Pueblo priest and clan chief, who asked him where he had learned how to heal. Hammerschlag responded almost by rote, rattling off his medical education, internship, and certification. The old man replied, “Do you know how to dance?”
To humor Santiago, Hammerschlag shuffled his feet at the priest’s bedside.
Despite his condition, Santiago got up and demonstrated the proper steps. “You must be able to dance if you are to heal people,” he admonished the young doctor. “I can teach you my steps, but you will have to hear your own music.”
Dance as healing. Yes. The creation of art, and music, is cathartic and reinvigorating. And I can tell you, they didn’t teach me that in seminary.
Attending a conference on religion in Japan, Joseph Campbell overheard another American delegate, a social philosopher from New York, say to a Shinto priest, “We’ve been now to a great many ceremonies and have seen quite a few of your shrines. But I don’t get your ideology. I don’t get your theology.”
The Japanese priest paused as though in deep thought, and then slowly shook his head. “I think we don’t have ideology,” he said. “We don’t have theology. We dance.”
So. Today, shall we dance?
Shall we stroll the artisan fair, and the Farmer’s market, together?
But Terry, this sounds like giving up. Well, actually, it’s the polar opposite.
Instead of escape (or fingers in our ears and eyes closed), it is literally, total investment. We honor the power of presence—to be here now.
“I have come to realize that a mother lode of strength lies waiting in all of us, unmined gold yearning to gleam in the sunlight,” Former Trappist George Fowler writes. That’s worth re-reading.
Today, it’s not that we “choose” to dance—or take replenishment in creativity and art—so much that we “choose” to give up living afraid. We give up living afraid by responding to this melody (the love of the Beloved, the voice of Grace) that tells us we are more than our labels. We are more than our pain. And our dance is the interplay with that voice. Because we are enough, our hearts are alive.
How does it begin? What allows us to put on our dancing shoes?
This is not easy because our instinct requires instructions.
I teach writing. And the first lesson is the most difficult: Write. Write, without editing, censoring, rewriting or revising. Simply write.
At my workshops, I have heard this comment, “I wondered when you were going to move on from the laughter and move on to the more important stuff.” And I tell them, “Just so you know, that was the important stuff.” Because that’s just it isn’t it? Our dance—a wholehearted interplay with life—happens when we give up our need to quench the spirit.
When we see with our heart. When we taste with our imagination. When we touch this moment (the sacred present) with our delight. When we laugh from the gut. When we know that here and now, we are connected to our brothers and sisters. And that makes a difference.
When we dance—and savor the gift of art—the voice of Grace is our music.
We are not afraid of vulnerability. The joy that is buried deep inside is uncovered. And joy spills light, making space for others to find their dance. Let us honor our shared humanity. That we are indeed on this journey together.
“You must be able to dance if you are to heal people,” Santiago said. “I can teach you my steps, but you will have to hear your own music.”

This week I’ll be spending time in Albuquerque with the New Mexico Certified Lay Leaders. And yes, we’ll be listening to hear our own music. Onward together my friends.

Quote for our week…
“Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music and rhythm and grace and song and laughter? Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh and the living colors of the earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid to love, I who love love?” Eugene O’Neill​​​​​​​

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Today’s Photo Credit: “Sunset in Angel Fire, NM. Fire through aspens and reflected on the clouds.  Total silence with the spilling of this light.” Ron Powell… Thank you Ron… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com 

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Letters that do my heart good…
–What a beautiful cello story Terry. The image of Karim Wasif playing his cello in a bomb crater will stay in my heart forever and bring me hope when my heart feels weary. Thank you again Terry for shining a light on the reality of love and kindness when it sometimes feels as if it is being overwhelmed by the opposite. I know this isn’t true because I know many more kind, loving people than unkind, hate filled people. I see little acts of kindness ever day when I’m out and about in my wheelchair, little acts that mean a whole lot to me and I try to do the same too, to pass it forward. That’s how the world will change I believe, one small act of kindness at a time. Val
–Thank you. Your daily messages are profound and so very helpful to me. Marilyn
–Thank you Terry! Thank you… Your reflections open me in those places where I tend to close up. You are an instrument of God’s Presence “winking ” at me and reminding me of what is important. I’m sitting in our porch as usual at getting up with my coffee, watching the squirrels run around and listening to the music of the birds. This is my morning ritual… and everyday I am reminded of the blessings… and the Call to choose to live fully, to choose Compassion. Thanks, Mercedes
–Thank you, thank you, thank you. This was so needed because I was feeling as you described at the beginning – trying to avoid the news and all the other things you described. I am sure that this post is going to be a tonic for the souls of many of us out here. God inspired you at the right time to write this. Carolyn
–Please accept the love, concern, gratitude for the Man / Reverend you have become to your readers. God hears about you daily from me, and many others. Accept our love and support. Thank you for sharing your love of your Grandmother, so many times. I love the picture of the two of you on her swing, and her gentle hand on your leg letting you feel her love. As a Grandmother I know what her heart was telling you. God bless and keep you close. Sending extra hugs to fill your pockets Elaine