From Redwoods to Roses, Solemnity to Jubilee, with a Negro Spiritual, Beethoven, and Brahms for Company

All photos taken by the author, Deeann D. Mathews, June 11, 2024

On Monday morning I found a note written to me in precise German handwriting, inscribed in the deepest, warmest, softly shimmering black, which of course indicated the writer... I could hear the voice as I read it...

"Sanft, sanft, meine Tochter, in dieser Woche ... überlassen Sie mir alle Sorgen für die Wanderung am Donnerstag. Seien Sie in allen Dingen sanft zu sich selbst. Es ist für Sie eine feierliche Zeit der Erinnerung."

"Gently, gently, my daughter, in this week ... leave [you] to me all concerns for Thursday's hike. In all things, be gentle to yourself. It is for you a solemn time of memory."

Why I love German ... Erinnerung ... memory ... the English for the word "inner" is within it. But also, the suggestion of not just something fixed and finished but actually still moving is there ... die Wanderung for the hike could have been more closely translated as the hiking, and would have been when English was younger. In like manner, die Erinnerung has the same construction, and says so much more ... the past is indeed done, and finished, but the memory-ing, the remembering is very much alive within us. To go still further: to the world of externals, what is done is done, and we are expected to keep moving on from it ... but in our inner lives, memory has its own gravity with which we have to deal.

Still further ... feier means celebration, but feierlich means "celebration-like," or solemnly, and IF that word feierliche had not been an adjective but a noun with just one extra E in it, the direction we are going in would have been clear. As a noun, leiche is corpse ... so, as a noun, feierleiche is a ceremonial corpse ... in essence, we are instantly translated to the funeral of a great man or woman ... which also turns us back around to "feierlich" as solemn. Not necessarily a happy moment, but one to be commemorated, which turns us back around to the active form of memory suggested by Erinnerung.

So ... I permitted myself a looser translation ... "For you, it is a time of solemn commemoration" ... and then I was overcome, for gratitude that I had time and space in my 2024 life to give June 18-20, 2022 the deep consideration necessary, and for anguish, for all that had been given up so I might have that time and space.

June 2022 started rough ... becoming die Leiche had already been the result of a year of foolishness for a particular individual who had reverted to evil only to be overtaken swiftly by it, and around that all manner of other relationships lay dead as well. I had also weathered a bout of Covid-19 with my entire family in the previous month, but had bounced back and gone right back to work with around 75 percent of my strength.

"Sanft, sanft, meine Tochterlein!"

Indeed, I need such reminders ... it was an insane time, but I was doing my best to keep all things going, and I did not want anything else to die. However, I would spend the rest of 2022 and most of 2023 learning that no matter how much I put forth all my effort, folly's consequences for those who choose it cannot be held off forever.

The necessity of remaining free, and the high, high cost ... the first basso profundo I heard, the great Paul Robeson, had lit my path up first in his dedication to the Negro Spiritual, and then later by something he had said regarding that: "The artist must choose whether he shall be for freedom, or for slavery. I have made my decision." I made that the last quote in my first book... it impacted me greatly, not least because by then, I knew the high, high cost that Mr. Robeson had also paid to stand firmly by that decision. I never can hear him singing "Jacob's Ladder" without being deeply moved ...

Now, I'm just a little contralto ... no matters regarding me are as immense as Mr. Robeson's personal triumph, and tragedy, in the face of McCarthyism ... at least, not yet. We shall see how the next U.S. election goes, but in the meantime, I'm just a little contralto living a quiet and peaceful life, doing my creative things on Hive and elsewhere, and humbly working in a position in senior housing. To externals, when did I miss a single beat, save for a few weeks with Covid-19? But ... in die Erinnerung, ... there these things required all the attention that such utter devastation to the inner person requires to come to terms, grieve, and heal. Nor yet was the whole process even finished for which I would mourn -- that would not be until October 2023, and then I did not stop because there was that fifth book to launch.

But ... at last ... more tenderly, the more affectionate and less formal repetition of the same admonition...

"Sanft, sanft, meine Töchterlein ... es ist für dich eine feierliche Zeit der Erinnerung."

Gentleness was the necessity, for although I had come to honor, victory, and peace, and even though my personal grieving had ended, care was still needed in managing the memory of the cost.

In Beethoven, one has two great "slow movements" of a solemn minor mood. I love the Funeral March of his Third Symphony -- but it is literally a funeral march, for one needs to imagine the hero ... the feierleiche, in essence ... there for all the service to herald his entrance into Glory. That, for this week, I found a bit too much, simply because ... what heroes? Not even me. I saved no day but my own.

Therefore, I am glad for the slow movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony ... this is the music you want when you return to commemorate, like the last living veterans of D-Day also returned for the 80th anniversary to the beaches of Normandy ...

Beethoven's second movement in his Seventh is actually an Allegretto, and so, actually not slow ... there is nothing in the Seventh that is slow ... but it is perfectly paced ... it takes its time with its great energy, with its sorrow, its consolation, its strength. As great as the rest of the symphony is, this portion has always had my heart, and to return to it now ... the simplicity of its chords, the building of its orchestral layers, the depth of all that it entails ... the singing consolation of its A major second theme and the stunning turn of that section back into the A minor theme ... and then, because both ideas are now in play, the interplay of them to a depth and richness that, like life, just has to be experienced...

While listening this time, it occurred to me: there is a difference in the way one remembers those things with which one still cherishes some hope of restoration, and the way one remembers those things that are truly finished. The first, in Beethoven, is well-represented to me by his "Lebewohl" piano sonata, Opus 81a, which ends with the desired return of the beloved friend ... a happy ending on top of everything else ... but the Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony is past all of that, past all of the stages of grief but one: acceptance. What can be won is won, and what is repaired is repaired as much it can ever be, but what is not will never be ... and yet, there is still strength enough, and solace enough, to go forth to life as it must now be.

This is the first symphony Beethoven never would hear except in die Erinnerung -- in memory -- when he had finished it. He had come to terms at this point with being deaf, so, this glory of solemnity and consolation and resolution may well be his own declaration of acceptance, and the next movement therefore an ironical joke, because I can hear and still did not know what key that movement was in until the end ... have fun as Beethoven dances all around the three major keys in which the note A is important, knowing that A for the whole symphony is what we think is going on, and so plays with our ability to be sure of what we are hearing ... but the joke is without any resentment. The beautiful thing about the stage of acceptance is that one can find the humor in life experiences that were once too painful for that ... and also, as is represented in the famed New Orleans "second line" jazz after a funeral, the whole point of commemoration for the living is to affirm the preciousness of life, and be inspired to go live it.

At about this time I heard someone playfully picking up Beethoven's deep bass notes in his own deep voice ... the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past, being the old comedian of the opera stage that he was, chose that moment to drop in with a smile.

"Only you, Frau Mathews," he said, with a gentle shake of his head. "Beethoven's Seventh Symphony 'second line' -- but you are not wrong. He of course knew exactly what he was doing, in following that great solemnity with this instead of bustling right on to the hustle of that last movement. Sequencing is important. I again put you in mind of Brahms's "Mit vierzig Jahren," which does not say "Climb, get to the top, and head for the next peak." It says, "Climb, look back upon whence you have come, take your staff, and go." Sequencing, and giving time to each portion in the sequence is important. A deliberate climb, a deliberate time of reflection, a deliberate turning while taking the things from the first part of the journey that are still necessary for the next part of the journey, a deliberate moving on through the great high plain beyond."

I considered this for a long moment, and then sighed.

"You know, if I was not steeped in both my own ancestral music and yours, that would not even make sense -- I mean, I'm a good storyteller and I'm decent at mathematics, but relating all that to human emotional life ... but I know there is a 'second line' after a funeral in jazz, and I hear Beethoven doing roughly the same thing, and I know how both of those work ... ."

I sighed again.

"And everybody who just grew up doing the average things in this country has no idea and there's no way to explain at this point even why I as a human being need time for every step. I just have to do what I need to do."

"There is no bridge, Frau Mathews. You have reached acceptance, and resolve. That is, we recognize the world will not change to suit us -- acceptance -- and it is enough for us to merely to see to it that the world does not change us to suit it -- resolve."

I thought about this for a long moment.

"Yes," I said simply. "I have come to that point."

"So now, Frau Mathews, on Thursday we shall walk and remember this anniversary, and remember what is truly finished, two years to the day of when you began the end of this long climb for you. But as I have said to you in my note, be gentle with yourself in this new resolve in this week, because the world will not change in its opinions or its demands. Instinctively, you have not been going with the flow for a long time, but you may find there are differences when your purpose is sensed. I forewarn you so that you may use your great intelligence to hold your peace."

"Thank you for the warning and explanation," I said. "There is already beginning to be a little weirdness."

"Because you are humble, and you are wise, and you are not showy, Frau Mathews, as yet there is just a 'little weirdness.' Be advised by an old German, who will shamelessly mix metaphors in English for your benefit. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and if there is fire, and it is already mid-June, be solemnly advised: the ice may be much thinner than you think."

"Wow," I said as I laughed gently. "When you get shameless, you really do!"

"A little tip on communication, from an elder master communicator to a younger one," he said, "of which I merely remind you because your own father, Herr Mathews, is also an elder master communicator: humor is a powerful tool to convey meaning. My misadventures in American English will live with pleasure in die Erinnerung, and thus give you a little spark of joy to counteract any unpleasantness you may encounter and thus assist you in doing what you meed to do."

"Still moonlighting on my security detail, I see," I said.

"Well, when you have a voice like mine, Frau Mathews, it is a little hard not to be on the moonlight side of things."

He left me laughing as he tipped his hat and disappeared ... and indeed I had occasion to smile many times in the next few days as his forewarning played out as intended. I was able to stay ahead of trouble.

I thought then also, consciously, of something I knew from Scripture and from all my wise elders with whom I was close and dear. In terms of trouble, wisdom prefers to rescue from the front. Although we think of physical force and money as chief protective elements -- and they do have their place -- the wise, by sharing and heeding wisdom, project immense power to protect one another in all situations.

But the key was humility, in seeking and in heeding ... and at last I saw, in sharing. For I had been led from early years to understand these two:

Ask, and it shall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be open unto you.

Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom, and in all thy getting, get an understanding.

What I did not know was being obedient to the first two would give me an entirely different life in 43 years than could be lived with others who neither knew nor heeded ... so then, at last, the wisdom of a third saying, about the wisdom necessary in the sharing portion of having it, at last settled like a bombshell into my heart.

Cast not your pearls before swine, lest they turn and rend [tear] you.

The last part is not often quoted, but here is the kicker: hungry hogs don't care what they eat so long as it is edible. The throwing of pearls in as pig feed would only alert said pigs that the thrower was available to be eaten. Now, this is not often considered ... but because this wisdom was in me, I had a track record by June 2022 and just extended it more ... not fully understanding, but knowing I had to leave.

Now I understood, fully. What that meant for the estimation of many I truly loved was again devastating, but it was what it was. By wisdom not fully understood I had been delivered; I would have to deny wisdom itself to ever be in such situations again. All of that, past, present, and future, was truly finished. Now, all that remained was to mark the end ... so indeed, Beethoven's Allegretto provided the ideal music ... music that only remained to be translated to a walk.

"Leave that to me, Frau Mathews. I have you covered. We will not forget Beethoven's 'second line' Scherzo either."

"No, we are NOT walking from your home to Fulton and Eighth Avenue when buses exist, Frau Mathews -- gently! There will be walk enough from there!"

"But buses take cash money."

"Frau Mathews, not yet has anyone been enabled from on high to do anything without being duly supplied -- I have my fare and yours."

"Do I dare ask how ... ?"

"Frau Mathews, I taught you 'Der Leiermann' -- but some old musicians are more successful at singing up their supper than others!"

"Wait, what?"

And then I broke out laughing ... he appeared at about 55 to me at the moment, but I knew the tourists at Golden Gate Park had seen him as he was at about 65 -- saw that smile, heard that voice, perhaps even seen him merrily bouncing around as he sometimes had done on stage, had their little ones go running to him, and their money following soon after!

"The Music Concourse has lovely acoustics, and in the summer, the little ones are adorably abundant," he said demurely. "That will account for all our summer expenses -- so when I say I have you covered, I have you covered, Frau Mathews!"

So, off we went on San Francisco's excellent public transportation system and went into the park at Eighth Avenue, with the sign pointing out the popular places to go ... yet off we went onto a side trail...

... through a small stand of oaks ...

... and then in sight of a memory of my childhood ... the playground near Tenth Avenue...

"I was playing here," I said, "when you were singing at the San Francisco Opera."

He smiled.

"In the middle of this beautiful park ... you began early on being brought away from the rushing world," he said. "Your parents are wise, and you do well by their wisdom."

"In those days, on sides of San Francisco no one would have ever suggested you visit, I could not have made it down the street safely," I said.

"And in that you never sought to catch up on what you might have thought you were missing, Frau Mathews, we see your parents' wisdom is indeed in you," he said. "In this gentle encounter with your past, I desire that you simply realize this before we delve deeper: everyone has choices to make. Your grandparents, your parents, and you made three generations of wise choices, and you are walking in that wisdom. Not everyone has elders like yours, and not everyone has made your decisions ... and so, the destinies of people diverge ... but everyone has an opportunity to encounter and seek wisdom, and everyone is held responsible for what they do with that opportunity."

Onward we walked, past 10th Avenue, and then I began to realize where he was leading me ... a decade or more had passed, and never by this path had I come to this hidden gem of Golden Gate Park not noted on the maps for the tourists...

... and which closed one off from the rushing world more than many were comfortable with...

In June, the trees of Golden Gate Park like a little watering, and we had come just after misting, so this specimen about the height of my walking companion was covered with droplets that frosted it in silver...

... silver for honored remembrance ... and then the first poignant chord of Beethoven's Allegretto sounded within my heart, for I remembered in full where I was ... my companion had brought me to a place left off the maps for a good reason.

My grand old soldier and I sometimes walked through a portion of the Redwood Hollow in Golden Gate Park, but not too often ... I always loved its divergence from the main path, for on hot days it was cooler and on windy days it was calmer, and to me it always felt like walking into a great, hushed cathedral. But he knew why, and I did not, until one day he, a Vietnam veteran, walked me to the city's World War I memorial, placed in 1932. Now, from this approach it took longer to reach it ...

... and because this area of the park was quiet, one could see how the gardeners were loving on the baby redwoods ...

... but at length, we came to the great stone ...

... still inscribed front and back with every name, and with who had put it up, and when, on the back...

Since I had last walked through, others had contributed stones for memory in 2018...

... on three sides of the main stone...

... and I gently drew my companion's attention to the westernmost stone.

He started slightly.

"I did not stop here for long," he said, "for I was surveying the best routes. I did not see that, Frau Mathews."

"Your generation began the journey toward that promise," I said. "Thank you -- danke schön."

"Herzlich wilkommen," he said, "although here I humbly say that my generation, the first to adulthood after World War II, only did that which was our duty toward all good to do. The generation of your grandparents also did much to help us, Frau Mathews ... so in your elders' place, receive my thanks."

He paused a moment, and then said, "If this reconciliation between our nations, and our peoples, proved to be possible, then no one anywhere need give up hope."

"No, we need not, my friend," I said. "No, we need not."

Our arms had already gone around each other, in this place of loss and remembrance, grief and hope ... his tears went into my hair, and mine into his shoulder ... much had been paid so that it was even imaginable that a German and African American might be friends after two world wars with plenty of racial hate on all sides ... the weight of the 20th century was there ... but because it had come out right at last, it was bearable. So, together, we walked to the fourth side in a shaft of sunlight a little further off, where there was a living wreath of blooming roses ...

... where we could barely read the words, they were so worn with time ...

"I think it says, 'Anglo/Magdaleno," I said. "It might mean 'Italian-American' in context ... but Italy was an ally in the first and an enemy in the second world war here, and the reverse in Germany, so mixed feelings but still, great love here."

"You know, there is a song about situations like this," my companion said. "The name is washed out, and perhaps there was a dispute about memory, but ... ."

There Germany's finest musical representative of the second half of the 20th century lifted up his voice, and blessed that place of memory with Brahms's beautiful 'In Dem Kirchhofe."

(The timestamp is 19:57!)

Because we were deep in the redwoods, there were not many that heard ... but those of a similar mind to ours within hearing range came, every one with tears in their eyes. I explained the meaning of the song, interpreting between German and English ... a man who newly has charge of the old graveyard explains to the listener that on that stormy day he had gone to work and found the gravestones so old that the names had completely worn away ... but although the names were worn away -- gewesen -- lost -- they themselves were asleep to the storms of the world and thus, one could see with the eye of faith that upon each stone was written genesen -- recovered and whole, safe on high.

Hugs and handshakes broke out ... a moment of deep human connection occurred ... but this was not the place that you walked along and talked in a great group ... this was a place in which one or two together at the most tended to come through, and with reverence ... and thus we all parted from each other in loving reverence.

Upward into greater sunlight...

... and there at some distance from the memorial, young tourists were enjoying a new attraction ... now, the winter's cost upon certain trees had already been seen from a distance ...

... but that is an entirely different matter than the loss of one of the great old trees, up close ...

That way where the young tourists were was thoroughly blocked in one direction, so since we could not gauge how far that tree went, we went around ...

... and then found what the park's guardians had done with the great tree that had stretched just that far...

My companion smiled and playfully protested.

"Frau Mathews, I desire that you remember that you love me ... how can you think of me at six-foot-forever-and-a-half, going under there!"

"Oh, just go in on the leftmost side -- it's high enough," I said, and then remembered ... my grand old soldier had a goodly number of such passages to make if he were not fast enough steering me around ... it was a sweet memory, evoked quite well by the hilariously dubious look my companion gave the archway as he nonetheless cleared it.

From moments of deep shade to light...

... at an Allegretto pace ... solemnity and consolation all moving ... we passed again and again through such places, proceeding gently downward ... far off I saw the place my heart had ever longed to go ... the bottom of the hollow to our north, and for the first time I had ever seen, bathed in sunlight...

... but at this point there was no trail, and above this place the trails downward were clearly too steep ... where we were was deceptively gradual at first, but further on it was near-sheer ... I knew that by just measuring how far it was to the top of the other side compared to where we were standing. My grand old soldier and I had not had hiking poles, nor did he, being a veteran and understanding the severity of injuries that one could sustain, ever thinking of trailblazing downward for himself or me. We had gone up again by a better-worn path as most did, and I had never questioned him about it, understanding that he was protecting me. My present companion, like him, also walked nearest the edge of the trail, in silent, unquestioned protection.

But, the park had been renovated a little, and different paths were more visible on a very sunny day than on the foggy summer days that my grand old soldier and I had tended to walk through ... so, after a good while as we continued to descend, my present companion turned to a slight right, and there ...

... there was the gentle path downward that had eluded me for a decade ...

... and once at the bottom, in its perfect peace, in this sunlight, my companion in hushed voice said to me, "I was glad that you chose Beethoven's Seventh Symphony over his Third, majestic though the C minor funeral in his Third is ... for you are the living victor, and although it was by no means an easy path, by following the One Who called you away from all that is in your past, you now must find that this day of light, and all its paths forward, are yours."

One last great release ... like the ending of the Allegretto after its second consoling A major section ... I wept until there were no more tears left in me, for all the memories, good and bad ... until, at last there was nothing left but sunshine and peace, in which we rested for a good while seated upon this log...

... and then explored the bottom ... again, magnificent contrasts of light and shade... at another turn, another baby redwood glowed in a shaft of sunlight ...

... and I could see that way off to the east, there had to be another path down nearer the entrance at 10th Avenue ... another day's quest ... but now I spotted another path upward and sent my companion right out of his English for a moment ...

"NEIN! Absolut nicht! Wie können Sie überhaupt daran denken, Frau Mathews?"

"OK ... I picked up 'No, absolutely not' and 'how can I at all thereon think?' But I mean, it's a shorter route ... ."

Now I saw those tree roots and that the tree itself was barely hanging on as much as he did ...

... but he, not realizing I was putting him on, went on at a rate of German I could not keep up with until he caught up with my slow smile.

"You reminded me last week, Herr Basso Profundo Buffo, that you love a comic setup, and got me really good ... so ... ."

His look of chagrin was rich and deep ... and brief, for he dissolved into hearty laughter in seconds.

"Sie gewinnen, Frau Mathews," he said with a smile afterward. "You win. For today."

Of course, we went up by the path we came down ... another magnificent contrast of light and shade ...

... and then found ourselves still only halfway up compared to the other side of the hollow ... so up some more...

... and from there we could have retraced our steps and gone around to the path my grand old soldier and I had used, but I spotted a fellow hiker at a distance ...

... and we followed her to the staircase by which she had ascended.

My companion looked at me in that same loving chagrin.

"Frau Mathews, that is Strawberry Hill in miniature -- the log placements make for huge steps, and it is narrow -- and I said specifically to go gently."

"Please," I said, and gave him my biggest and most hilarious "sad puppy face" of pleading.

He gave in with a sigh.

"Slowly, at least, Frau Mathews -- go up before me, and if you cannot make a step, you will fall back into me."

So, we made our way up ... and indeed, there were some huge steps for my short legs ... but they were gradual, and some of them I just walked around. Thus, up we climbed into San Francisco's Rose Garden ...

... just roses as far as the eye could see until the redwoods adorned the horizon ...

... and quietly in the shade, a blooming heart awaited us ...

"For by love you have been led, ever upward, and it shall ever be before you, and also overtake you."

These roses also were exceptionally lovely with their white centers...

... and we stayed there a little while in the shade by them, for it had been a long climb up ... for me it had been a very long climb up, and I was surprised by more tears ... but they could not be for any reason but joy and gratitude, having come now two seasons past all the anguish of the previous year, and being able to look back and remember with nothing left of pain or any desire for vindication ... none of it was necessary, in the light.

"Turn around and look, Frau Mathews ... for we know yesterday was Juneteenth, the 159th anniversary of your people's freedom, and today is the two-year mark of your personal climb... what is written there for you is in order!"

He was right ... it was a jubilee, for I was free ... the memories I would always have, and there would always be that deep solemnity there ... but also, there would be this ... this joy, that I had been graced and granted to make it out ... that I had been called out, and granted the strength and the wisdom to answer, and go.

"Mein Herz jubelt für dich ... ach, Frau Mathews, mein Herz jubelt für dich!" he said, reminding me that one of the strongest words for rejoice in German would be jubilee as a verb, and I knew jubilate in Latin and jubilant and jubilation in English tied all that together.

My own feelings were lagging a little in terms of exultation ... that would bear further examination in a later conversation ... but he, as it had ever been musically, was more than willing to carry me along, and I was willing to yield to the invitation of his open arms -- and he, overjoyed, began caroling the melody of the Scherzo for Beethoven's Seventh Symphony as swept me, dancing, all up and down that garden for joy as I laughed and laughed! The tourists were somewhat surprised, but a few of them loosened up and got on into it, and so the jubilee celebration carried on for a while!

At long last we stopped to rest again, and at a certain point he chuckled again.

"Well, I completely forgot the plan to get myself out of what I've been going through since last week at home, Frau Mathews," he purred. "Jerome Hines will be ratting all the stars in the locale laughing, and Martti Talvela will be smiling and shaking his head when both are not calling me this in English and Finnish ... ."

"Well, I'll put a little respect on that -- Herr Old Blush," I said, and he laughed. "I kind of like that nickname for you, because a rose by any other name ... ."

He actually did not look old at that particular moment at all ... he was glowing far too much from happiness. It was a good thing we were in bright sunshine, and that there was a beautiful cluster of roses nearby, in golden blush, to catch the attention of the people...

Once he had seen it, he had another idea ...

"You ought to have a memorandum of this day, Frau Mathews, being the lovable Blumenkind -- flower child -- that you are, come to the bloom of this summer!"

And, although he would not pluck a living flower, he picked up all the freshly fallen petals that still had their color and a good bit of scent and then said, "It gets cool here in the afternoon, and you ought to be prepared!"

And thus, I went endowed, carrying something of the light and beauty of that day back with me as, of course, we had to begin our journey back to my home at some point ...

... and before long were upon and would cross over the border into the rushing world ...

... but we had done what we had set out to do ... taken the time for me to remember and celebrate as I had needed to ... and now, it remained ahead of us to see what would bloom in the dawn of summer.

"What will the summer hold for Herr Altesrouge and Frau Blumenkind, indeed?" my companion said brightly, and I laughed all the way to our bus stop, knowing that the summer adventures of Old Blush and Flower Child were just beginning!