Yesterday, at the conclusion of a weekend of studying and fasting in preparation, I had a good session with that Joseph I'm so fond of. I didn't rush home afterward; I needed some buffer time. I fed the Jamestown ducks with a friend who was coming out of the clinic at the same time I was, then I took a detour to the library to satisfy a hankering to listen to some Tom Waits. Lo and behold, scads of his discs! Some wonderful person in the audio-visual department has really filled in the collection, bless 'im. I checked out an embarassing number of cds but nobody tried to stop me, so . . . happy day. Next I took another detour and had a slow, solo lunch at Yamato--seaweed salad and okonomiyaki, my favorites. It's a quiet place anyway, and it was well past the lunch hour, so I was able to use the time meditatively. It turned out to be a real grace period, in the very truest sense. It was one of those rare times when I can actually feel my heart completely receive some truth that my head's been lonesomely holding onto for ages. I was surprised by the peace of it all and happy that the peace has every intention of travelling with me now.
As if that wasn't lovely enough, this morning I've been playing some of the music I brought home from the library--not the Tom Waits, but three discs from a jazz group I was unfamiliar with. These caught my eye as I flipped through the racks and something whispered to me that I was looking at true love in plastic sleeves. Let me tell you that THEY. ARE. FABULOUS. I found Kronos Quartet in a similar way a few years ago, while shuffling through strange library collections, and adored them too. I've shot photos to illustrate their music, that's how great they are for me. But Tin Hat Trio even beats Kronos. What a gift. Maybe it sounds silly, but this is just another avenue for grace to my way of thinking. There's an incredible refreshment that comes to me from this music. How often doees that happen anymore? Sure, I often hear music I like, some I might dance to and some that helps me relax, but I don't hear much new stuff that genuinely feeds me. I think my soul itself must be made of little bits of odd instruments, shaves of weird rhythms, and combinations of cacaphony and pretty sounds, because these tracks sure resonate.
It's just amazing to me sometimes how everything--books, thoughts, prayers, interactions, experiences, meditations, food, songs--seems to come together . . . just to lift me. Why not? I believe that can happen to anyone, and that it's real when it does.