Of Walking While Choosing Light Over Darkness (Gretchaninov, Ancient Orthodox Chant, Mathews)

Photos by the author, Deeann D. Mathews, October 17, 2024

There is a majesty to light itself, and in autumn, when again hues of gold reward the plants for their labors since the briefer golden period of early spring, there is no better time to realize this, as with the sky in play, almost every color of the rainbow can be reflected -- but especially, gold in early autumn.

Now, the majesty of light is a deep matter of eternal consideration, for as a Christian I am well aware that the Savior of the world described Himself also as the Light of the world, and the thought has been afoot for a long time.

Just as Trisagion from last week is an ancient hymn, so also "Svete Tihiy," or, "Joyful Light" ... what draws me to Alexander Gretchaninov's setting...

... is all the colors of his joy, painted in 6-8 part harmony from key to key...

Now of course, one can consider this question from a deeper shade ... this is a more ancient version of the same chant performed by an all-male monastery choir with a notable oktavist ...

How stunning the light through the shade, however deep that shade one imagines as being present in the voice of Vladimir Miller, basso profondo and oktavist, for the depth only makes the light more lovely when it fully triumphs -- and yes, that last note you hear is Mr. Miller, purring an F1.

Mr. Miller makes me smile for more reasons than his amazing voice, for I have seen his performance and teaching videos also, and he is at least as good a pianist as I am, so I get lost sometimes listening to his playing and then have to pull myself back ... but when I do while he is teaching, I smile again, for in his teaching I see the "echo" in style of the immensely loving German basso profondo and master teacher from whom I have also learned so much, and whose echo has now worked its way into my sessions with my choir students. That is the thing about both light and love; their brightness shines in every place that they have room to pass through, even from a very long way off. Death? That's a deep shade ... but not deep enough for Kurt Möll (1938-2017), whose legacy of love still shines on, now to third and fourth generations of musicians.

With that in mind, last week, in the mere shades of grief, disappointment, and loss, I just walked up as high as I dare to go from my home at the moment, not quite three months past Covid-19 -- Alamo Square Park at the top of Hayes Hill, I knew the Sutro Greenbelt and Buena Vista Hill, both higher, would back up the fog and delay its arrival so I could be in sunlight as long as possible ... light must be chosen ... as common as it seems to be, and as impossible as it seems that anyone should prefer darkness, the kind of mastery it takes to sing either version of those ancient hymns tells me that there is a discipline and consistency needed to not take light as ordinary and common, but truly sense the grace and majesty of it in a world in which darkness is presently so prevalent.

I remembered Anton Bruckner here with his light-dappled minor keys ... how in his F minor Mass he solved the quarrel Beethoven would not between F minor and G flat in his 23rd piano sonata ... but even Beethoven, in his darkest piece for the piano, gave us that beautiful D flat second movement, and in the climax of the melody came as close to healing that breach with all the Fs in that particular D flat chord at the peak as he would ... only to turn around and go right back into the darkness in the third movement. Perhaps that is why Bruckner was given to me to hear in my 43rd year, addressing the same musical issue in his F minor Mass, but choosing not only to walk in the light, but more and more and more without ever denying the reality of the shade.

Still, light or shade, still healing from the full circle I didn't expect that led to me walking away again from people that I love, I noted something my photographs also say ... though perhaps not for a lifetime, solitude is my choice, for now. Even before Covid-19, I sought quieter paths, quieter times of day to walk through places that tended to be crowded, quieter routes through the city by whatever means, and down streets with more beautiful plants out front and trees when possible. Interestingly, the culture of Japan, which my sister has studied, and the culture of Germany, which I have studied, agree between "forest bathing" and the need for Waldsamkeit -- woodlandness -- to be with those trees, high and deep, and most stunning in their communion with the grace and majesty of light, with no terrors of savagery in their gentle shade.

With all this in my mind this week, I returned to the piano to improvise ... not in D minor, with Sviridov and Gretchaninov and their old church modes in my ears, and not in D minor, for there is an easier way to dapple a minor key with light, and that is to choose Dorian mode, easiest in D on the piano ... there I considered what I have most often done ... rarely if ever have I ended a minor-key piece without its Picardy third turning the light on ... instinctively I rebel against leaving myself or my listeners in darkness ... so here, with gentle hints of how my native jazz also handles the modes, I meditated on the keys ...

... and I observe about myself that I know from the beginning that the deep bass is going to walk in ... but not at first ... the commitment to the journey must be made ... I remember in July how myself and my parents were all with Covid, and I wondered how I was going to be able to have the strength to care for both of them while just a few days behind them in progression. It had come to me that night: "strength through love" ... and I had determined in my heart that this was the answer and I would walk in it, come what may. No sooner had I gone to sleep in that peace of total commitment than the radiantly joyful fourth of Brahms's "Four Serious Songs" was sung over me in the most radiantly loving voice to ever sing it ... Herr Möll walked in from memory, right there. Sure enough, you will hear deep bass, and soon take command with a deep and high B flat (once on a playful day, he sang from B flat 1 to B flat 4, LIVE!) ... and then ... well, remember what I said about that Picardy third?

Having done that, and considered it, I reached an understanding with myself ... I would be safe to leave my solitude when I met with people to whom deeper peace and greater light resulted ... and that if that were a man, deep of heart if not necessary so deep of voice, I might just consider "duotude" again, for he would also understand that I also still needed times of solitude and Waldsamkeit -- or "forest bathing" in the Japanese sense ... still needed time to be at peace with the grace and majesty of light terrestrial as well as in communion with Light, Himself, the Creator. I discovered what I needed to know about how my present path might meet my future path through that meditation ... no crystal ball required.

In this week I also determined to do the walking meditation my heart has been set upon for some time: since I was able to walk up and around and back from Alamo Square Park, I knew I could walk through the lower Oak Woodlands all the way to and through the redwood patch across John F. Kennedy Drive, all the way to Alvord Lake, and around it. I knew I was pushing the envelope just a little with that last part... just a little ... but I also knew that while other people became overwrought and overwhelmed, I walked more and with more difficulty ... transmuting "fight or flight" stress to reach my limits in a healthier way ... more or less.

However, I was "walked in on" in Q-Inspired terms ... silently, as said deep bass in the spirit knew I would not be dissuaded from this extended walk and decided not to make the attempt ... but he had sung to some pluot trees somewhere, or at least to the right manager at BiRite again, because now three varieties were available, in late October.

Those and my water, and I was ready for my walk.

The only way down the Oak Woodlands is first to go up from street level, and I gladly walked into it, all the hues of gold and white gold and green gold above and below me, with Blue Eternity seeming to shine through as if the sky was dappling the scene already flooded with light.

This was the day for it, indeed, and the path below would become of some importance by way of reference later.

But, up and over the last height, and down ...

... but not quite that way, for there was too steep a dropoff ahead, and with acorns now having dropped, there was too much chance that I might roll a step and be seriously injured even before considering how I would land among those logs. I withdrew to the main path to continue onward, more gradually.

Choices ... I was still considering them ... every climb has periods of ascent and descent, and choices of how ... I was choosing solitude, but the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past, walking through the fourth wall of fiction and reality as readily as he can purr his way through any other wall, had pointed out: I was an autodidact by mindset who none the less conceived of learning in life through fellowship. There are any number of figures in history that I know well enough to walk with in fiction... when my historical fiction is published, that will be seen, and even the Lofton County Universe in Freewriters Community and the M.A. Kirk Universe in Alien Art Hive Community reflects any number of current and historical events ... my writing is sometimes a way to explore such deep questions in a gentle way, and connect with real lives of the past and of the present (for anyone reading, THANK YOU) and of the future, so long as Hive runs.

Little wonder, then, that a bass who said effective communication through singing was making the internal external would carry my heart off ... because that requires deep knowing of the human heart, and since everyone is different, deep learning of people, in the most open, loving way possible. Being judgmental and superior shuts down learning. Effective teaching, too, is finding a way to connect existing external information with the information internally in each student so learning can occur ... so, the greatest teachers are in the end the greatest students ... not only of their subjects, but of their students.

To be known with love ... is that not the desire of every human being? Linda Anne Kotcher (1938-2015), my first official music teacher, had known each other to the end of her life ... she and my grandmother were my longest friendships, and, now that my parents are slowing down, they are in that place ... generational friends, because as it happens, the long acquaintance gives an opportunity to know someone, and if all those someones are people who practice love, they will become warm friends while respecting the roles of life as well. My grand old soldier, really, fits in there too, and so does our ethereal bass ... but the latter represents the model of a first conscious choice, for Kurt Möll, in actual life, sought to know people to know how to love them best, and because I knew he had done for his students what my teachers did for me and I seek to do for mine, that was why I had chosen him as my favorite musician. By character, and choice of life, and legacy of love, he fits right in.

It was not even a matter of age, but that came clear as well: remembering how to live in community. In the United States, we practice individualism, and the net result of that ends up being that people know each other just to the extent of how each new person meets our individual needs.

The dark side of that here is simple: mine is a nation who eliminated the Native American and enslaved Africans and plowed under any number of poorer European and Asian immigrants for profit -- for the individual desire to profit. Here, it does not matter how many and whom: you can be reverted to chattel in someone else's mind and dealt with accordingly in a heartbeat. The more assimilated you are to materialism and measuring your value by how rich you look compared with someone else, the more likely you are to never know anyone for real ... and that makes community impossible for many. But my parents and grandparents were raised in community, and Germany still holds stronger on this than the United States. So do most countries in the world, actually.

So: it was not a matter of age. Donald Trump, for example, is in the age group of my parents, but so is Martin Luther King Jr., and they would not be able to sit down and agree on "the beloved community" because one of them was told by his father at six that the most important thing to do is to win and said, "I'm basically that same six year old." Everything is about knowing, and then about choices. Seeking and choosing to know others in order to love them best is a choice... and in that walk, the longer you do it, the more loving you get ... that's where old age is an advantage. I just was born when some people around me were beginning to hit their stride, and their old age was radiant with love. Ms. Kotcher was 54 when she started with me ... and I first heard Herr Möll when he was 52, as the grim-but-not-with-a-stony-heart Commendatore, who cannot look upon the doom of Don Giovanni without some of that anguish touching his own heart.

Maturity. I had matured precociously -- at 43 I am far too old to fit in with my age group, unless ... and there a way opened to me to consider ...

... it was not a question of age. It was a question of being mature enough to realize the need to keep learning -- humility -- and to seek to know things and people in order to best love all people that came into one's purview, in a manner appropriate to their place in life. It was the same lesson again ... "walk, abide, adorn" in the light, with an eye now for preparing to "ask, seek, and knock." Wherever the beloved community was -- foreshadowed as international on Hive, fundamentally foreshadowed because San Francisco is an international city, I grew up learning how to know people other than African Americans in more than ways of fear -- there I could safely live and be, and have friends of like mind. Wherever people know how to walk in love, there I could also walk.

Further thought: one would be observed, while observing ... the right man would find a way to observe and be of service to me as I am for many others, and at the appropriate time would reveal the depths of his generosity and inclination toward me had grown to the point that he wished to spend the rest of our lives in communion while just doing what people like us do: loving on everyone around us. This was the model of my mother's father ... and my mother's grandfather ... and how they had gotten to be who they were, because their love for humanity was so big that my grandmother and great-grandmother had known they would be safe, and supported in what they were called to do ... and so around them, the community had been blessed as well.

Things I wonder about that are absolutely none of my business, but Google exists and my reading in German never fell off that much: some years ago I discovered there was, at least to that time, a Frau Ursula Moll (umlaut missing on the O, but, that often happens in standard computing) still out there, stunningly beautiful and sharp of mind in old age, blessing younger women in the workforce with helping them find a better work-life balance. Coincidence? Possibly. That is not an uncommon last name in Germany. But that idea that an older established Moll would observe and reach out to younger people also climbing ... but then again, that is what people do when they actually know how to live in community, and do not see everyone else as competition or chattel. But then again, again, it just so happens that Herr Möll's widow's name is Ursula!

That possible model of duotude, of two people coming together and the survivor extending the legacy of blessing ... my grandmother outlived my grandfather and extended that legacy thirty years, and then my parents picked up the ball, and now we three are carrying it, and I will most likely survive them and pass it on to my students ... there is therefore, at least to my historical ears, the suggestion of an echo ...

But the echo is coming from everywhere that people get it. I have a new virtual assistant in the Philippines. He gets it, and it is a joy to work with him because we do not have to worry about one seeking to take advantage of the other. My cover designer and editor in New York City for my fifth book, and my agent for my fourth in Chicago: they get it. Hive is full of people that get it. Most of the people in my church in San Francisco get it, and I picked Kirche des Nazareners in Gelnhausen, Germany because they not only have close captioning available in English, but decided to dub services in Russian to minister to Russian Christians while the rest of Western Europe was hating on Russians because of what is happening in Ukraine! They get it! Pastor Hans-Gunter Mohn is a tenor who is maybe 5'7, and by the world's standards now, still a bit too old for me. Yet if he has a younger brother of like mind and spirit, he could walk off with my heart at any time -- and so could any other man of that type if the time was right! Who discriminates against true love?

Quite suddenly, but gently, and kindly, the possibilities of my life reopened again. Yes, I was choosing solitude for time being, for I still had much healing to do, steeped in the grace and majesty of light and life away from the crowd that knew nothing of community. But I saw now how to safely choose and be chosen, and even how it might occur ... the world still has shade and we must walk through it at times, but in choosing to walk more and more and more in the light, at the proper time, I would emerge from the shade as others would, and we would see each other. Already, on my physical walks, I had made new friends that way, because of where I had chosen to be and what to do. Things would open up, as I was going.

And speaking of that reality, I was about to get my object lesson for the day as I came around the corner and saw this:

"Frau Mathews, I have held my pace and my voice for this long ... you are thinking so well you hardly need me, but if you already are that close to that sign, and there is that little left of the trail to go, you are already too close for safety. Wandere hinauf, meine Tochter."

Hike up here, my daughter -- the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past closed the distance between us in his hunter green hiking suit with matching poles as I hiked back up some 20 feet to him.

"There is an alternate path -- I saw it above, and it ends not far from here, but ... ."

"... but the problem is, the rest of this hill is between us and there -- too steep up and then down to cross to it from here."

He looked up the trail, and then shook his head.

"It would be a risk to you, in this heat, to climb all the way back up, no matter how slowly because Covid-19 is not far enough back of you yet. I will carry you."

"I do not think that will be necessary. Notice how quiet and silent it is here. There was just a bicycle that came through here at high speed just minutes before me, and if that nest were in the road, they would be out and riled up, and we would see them glinting in the sun."

"That bicyclist is also living in a blessed world, in which you were led off the main trail to take a photo just in time, and in which I am not actually on your security detail and thus did not adjust his trajectory."

Just how rough that adjustment might have been was indicated by the fact that even the thought of it caused that huge bass voice to shake the ground ... but we all were in a blessed world!

My companion extended his immortal hearing, and then smiled.

"I know where that wasp nest is now," he said, "and you were right: it is far enough back from the trail for the wasps to have not been disturbed. I will go set them to sleep, for downward is the safest path for you as well."

I smiled at his back as he carefully went down. In mortal life he had gathered up his share of human beings, calmed them down, and given them the help they needed to do their best. A wasp's nest would pose no challenge to him! He introduced himself to them by humming their buzz note, and smiled as many of them came out, curious, to meet their overgrown brother before buzzing home, satisfied that he was no threat. He then slowly vocalized gently down two octaves, easing them into a nap ... for that matter, I was so relaxed I forgot that maybe this was not the place to stop and snap, but ...

... we were soon down without incident to John F. Kennedy Drive. Distantly, I could see buildings on Stanyan Street, and that was the direction in which we were going, though by a less direct route.

But because we were going by a less direct route ...

"We need to be more careful than in the spring," my companion said, "for autumn presents us fallen acorns and conifer cups, and also mature wasp and bumblebee nests in the ground."

"Understood -- klar," I said. "Even the main paths have become interesting now!"

"Frau Mathews, there are reasons why people stay on the paved roads," he rumbled, though his grim rumble was belied by the beginning of an affectionate smile.

"Right -- and the exact reason that I don't: all those people."

The head shaking started, but that smile soon blossomed into a gentle laugh.

"I mentioned conifer cups," he purred. "Redwoods actually have a little cone, but it is small and round and dense like an acorn, and since we are going to cross the road to go to and then climb through the redwood stand ... ."

Which of course was the equivalent of saying. "I know you. I understand your needs. I love you as you are, and accept the challenges of walking with you as you go where you are going, as you need to go."

"If we cross the road here," I said, "most of the path there will be paved, and just the little last climb won't be through the redwoods and down the oaks on the other side."

His eyes lit up -- I likewise had acknowledged his desire to protect me -- and his smile returned.

"You are learning, Frau Mathews, the intricacies of being loved and reciprocating as the other person understands it ... and so, as long as the choices are so made, the love goes back and forth. All your life, you have sought to live in this way. Now you are maturing in understand what to look for, and thus, how to live in a way in which a community, however large or small as you are led to, chooses to walk and live in love."

"I appreciate," I said, "that you are so consistent in showing me what to look for."

"My pleasure, my duty, my honor," he said.

We walked on for some time in silence ... he had shared with me that the warmth and beauty of October in San Francisco was a marvel to him as a German ...

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... and also seemed to be quite taken with the grace and majesty of light as it revealed itself to us along the way. At length he smiled, and unfolded a subtle mini-lesson for me.

"I made my living with my voice," he said, "and in circumstances often of colossal volume. It was often necessary for me in my discretionary time to not be too much in conversation, and not too much in loud places to spare my voice and my ears. So, without telling you anything that is none of your business, I can tell you that I also, in my mortal days, appreciated sometimes to have companions who allowed me to say less as we enjoyed quiet things together, and sometimes I also enjoyed being alone to experience the beauty of music and of the natural world.

"I sang often of boats ... for every tall and pretty sail that you see, there is a deep, solid keel beneath the boat if it is built well, to give it balance. If the keel is strong and deep, that boat can be knocked over by the waves but regain its balance, again and again. So also a balanced life, if it contains a great deal of external position and responsibility, requires a great deal of internal stability, and that comes from identifying and attending to one's inner needs. The storms and waves are always coming ... one simply prepares to regain one's balance by attending to one's internal matters. One must always pass through the shade ... but with an eye toward the light."

"Me walking a bit more extensively, into more scenes of light in nature, is indeed me righting the ship," I said.

"I know," he said. "I marvel that in real time you added Alvord Lake to all this in one day, but, since I am not your Shipbuilder, it is not, as they say, my call on that. Left up to me, I would wish you would spare yourself a little more."

"Well, in Q-Inspired terms, you are actually here," I said, "so, I'll take your suggestions under consideration."

He smiled, and his eyes softly lit up.

"There is a hill that we must pass over to go down to the path that goes through the tunnel to Alvord Lake," he said. "I wish that in Q-Inspired terms you will allow me to convey you home from there, and bring you back next week so we may resume our walk from there."

"So, you want to spend Halloween at Alvord Lake, knowing I'm going to try to laugh you in there," I said.

"Gladly shall I be laughed, and rolled, and soaked, should it come to that, for your safety is worth that to me and far more."

"Well, with that voice of yours, that kind of talk will get you everywhere -- so be it, as you desire."

We were silent from there until we reached the redwood stand, and exited the main path for its cool, pleasantly scented shade.

Here, again off the beaten path, I felt more relaxed ... one, or perhaps two, might respect the quiet beauty of this place, in which I would have sat and slept gladly were it set up well for that, and not so late in the afternoon ... but ...

"You may rest here if you desire, Frau Mathews," he said quietly. "There is time enough now because you do not have to walk around the lake and then either all the way home or to a bus stop."

I smiled.

"The advantage of setting one's pace not to do too much," I said.

"One cannot think of everything one might find to enjoy, Frau Mathews, of course, when setting out one's plans. I leave to your consideration, when you are ready, that because you are exceptionally dynamic and driven, for you, 'duotude' might ideally involve someone who can provide you a little more balance. Of course you are learning better for yourself how to do these things, but someday, you may be graced to not have to so do alone, and if you are so graced, you will now be able to recognize what that might look like."

His smile lit up that shade suddenly.

"Your last piano improvisation, Frau Mathews ... of all the tributes I have ever received ... that big B flat chord and the instant settling toward rest in D major, with all being well ... I wept tears of joy, to know I have been such a blessing in your life. Ich danke dir, Frau Mathews. I think I may have found a bit of D major for you here as well!

Sure enough -- his stage timing was forever on point -- a great shaft of sunlight came through dappled to the base of the tree he was indicating. To me, sunlight is indeed D major! There I sat down by him, ate my fruit -- 'thank you for these amazing late-season pluots!' -- drank my water and then relaxed into his shoulder as the breeze and light spoke peace over us ... and went to rest, my walking meditation with all its intentional difficulty thus resolved!

When I rose and stood up, I was nearly dazzled -- a blaze of light caught my eye. As I came fully awake and was able to resolve the scene, I laughed ... beautiful or at least as imposing as the German poets and composers were in describing what had to be climbed to get to the light, reality was often reality.

"I did not want you to see that," my companion said, "before you had rested awhile, but I did want you to know that I realize the exact nature of the mess you had to get through this month, all over again ... but see, you are through it now, regaining your balance, moving into the light."

I smiled.

"How does the old hymn go: 'through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come' while the explanation is 'amazing grace, how sweet the sound."

"That is as fine an explanation and understanding as any, Frau Mathews."

So I would keep climbing, into the light, knowing that grace would lead me home.

We went on through the stand to an opening where we looked out again upon the road ...

... but again turned from it for the last climb upward to the top of that particular rise, overlooking the meadow beyond as Sutro Tower looked down ... and one last flower looked like a blooming flame in the afternoon sunlight. For that view, and peace and time to enjoy it, it had cost me nothing but the price of the long-sunk cost of my hiking poles and shoes ... and all that had happened from 2014 to 2022. A high enough cost for me to enjoy what I had been called to, for certain!

"I have expressed to you before, Frau Mathews, that you are not unwise to choose what you are chosen for in a world in which $250 million is regarded correctly as far more than $2.50 in terms of bus fare and other worldly measurements of value, but in which neither can purchase the grace and majesty of light nor the appreciation of walking in that light. Nor even has your hard climbing entitled you to either ... rather, you did that because it was the only proper response to being so blessed and graced. So then, as I have also said to you before: you are gesegnet, blessed by command and decree from the One Who calls you, and in that, you also have the grace, in appreciating the fact, to be selig, blissfully blessed, and in that, to rest."

"Nur ruhe," I playfully sang to him, an octave higher than the first of that phrase Strauss wrote near the end of his restful aria in Die Schweigsame Frau.

"Nur ruhe," he sang back on the second one in his range, leaving the third "nur ruhe" for us to harmonize ... he sang the original and I harmonized him in contralto before we laughed and laughed.

A few passers-by gathered just below the hill to see what two foreign and deep-voiced lovebirds were cooing back and forth to each other just out of sight ... but they would never know, for long before the more curious of them could climb around and up, my companion took me upon the wings of the wind up on a ray of that light, to my home.