Touching the soul
My father playing a polka accordion, my cousin playing and singing country music, my son’s mother playing the piano while singing, private symphony performances in some of the homes of Washington, D.C., free concerts at the National Gallery of Art, the magic of dating an opera singer and her friends in NYC, the musical caress of an male opera singer in Pittsburgh, the rich, passionate voices of the members of the church choir whose pain and hope combined to grab and sometimes pierce one’s heart and soul.
Jazz, Blues, folk, classical, operatic, disco/dance, the beat of a drum, the heart wrenching sounds of taps, the songs of the birds or the evening crickets all touch a deep part of me and, I suspect, all of us. No matter the spoken or written language of the composer no translator is needed.
It is not surprising that even in the death camps while waiting for their turn for the gas chamber which would end this life journey the prisoners found a way to make music. The body of work known as the holocaust music is a tribute to the need to share the depts of our connection with all that is.
When I am struggling with powerlessness, with grief that threatens to crack open my heart, or with joy which aches to cover the entire universe, only notes of music can sprout wings and carry the depth of the emotions.
We all have a song to share; No matter that we may sing a bit off key or possess little talent for playing a musical instrument, it is necessary that we find a way to share our song.
As little children we are not fearful of sharing our song. We know it is ours. As adults we much garner the courage.
Written September 24, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
My father playing a polka accordion, my cousin playing and singing country music, my son’s mother playing the piano while singing, private symphony performances in some of the homes of Washington, D.C., free concerts at the National Gallery of Art, the magic of dating an opera singer and her friends in NYC, the musical caress of an male opera singer in Pittsburgh, the rich, passionate voices of the members of the church choir whose pain and hope combined to grab and sometimes pierce one’s heart and soul.
Jazz, Blues, folk, classical, operatic, disco/dance, the beat of a drum, the heart wrenching sounds of taps, the songs of the birds or the evening crickets all touch a deep part of me and, I suspect, all of us. No matter the spoken or written language of the composer no translator is needed.
It is not surprising that even in the death camps while waiting for their turn for the gas chamber which would end this life journey the prisoners found a way to make music. The body of work known as the holocaust music is a tribute to the need to share the depts of our connection with all that is.
When I am struggling with powerlessness, with grief that threatens to crack open my heart, or with joy which aches to cover the entire universe, only notes of music can sprout wings and carry the depth of the emotions.
We all have a song to share; No matter that we may sing a bit off key or possess little talent for playing a musical instrument, it is necessary that we find a way to share our song.
As little children we are not fearful of sharing our song. We know it is ours. As adults we much garner the courage.
Written September 24, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
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