May 6

A day late.  I know.  But I wrote it in my mind last night.

Bach is sublime.

The chance to sing, experience, revel in that sublimity for two hours last night?  An honor.

As the final chord of the Gloria rang out and we sat down for the next solo, I looked out to the audience and regretted that my children and my husband were not there.  It was not an option for them to come this time, not really.   Sitting quietly through two hours of music, even Bach, is a lot to ask of little ones, especially when the concert begins precisely at their bedtimes.  But I would love to see if the music sings to their souls the way it does mine.  I thought to myself, I ought to play the CD for them at least, sing along perhaps. But as I involuntarily swayed to the melodies drifting up from the orchestra, I realized what a poor substitute that would be.

The truest power of this music is the way breath brings it to life.  The organic work of breathing together, of 85 pairs of eyes trained on the director, attuned to signals, hands, bows moving.  The beat becoming a presence among us as hour hearts beat in time to the 16th notes.  Voices building on the voices around them, listening and tuning and growing, stressing and pulling back, giving meaning to the text, transcending language.

We really sang the mass last night, just gave in and sang it.  The notes may not have been perfect but the music was glorious.  Alive.  Resplendent.

I am so lucky.