Saturday, June 12, 2010

Early in the morning. . . .best intentions. . .

Like many of you, I arise early. My Bunn coffee maker is usually ready to roll about 0230 or so. The old Latin introit for Easter Mass used the words "Et valde mane . . ." to characterize the time when the women went to tomb to find it empty of Jesus' mortal body. "Valde mane" is a mythical moment in which the new day arrives in midst of darkness. It isn't a matter for clocks to measure. It is an activity that is part of the Mystery.

For me, a great work of music has an integrity and life of its own in performance. It shares in the mythical and emerges out of the duration of Eternity. True dawn is the perception of the soul's stirring into the coming day. Like the resistance and release of a beating heart or the awareness that comes between inhalation and exhalation of breath, the soul's purpose is renewed within the gift of Life itself.

Having said all that, I often sit down in the evening with the intention of doing something profound for my unseen "audience" out there in cyberland. It is there that I've discovered another mythical moment. It is the end of the day when my brain turns to mush and I'm falling asleep over the computer. Then I procrastinate and promise that "tomorrow will be better. . . I'll get a piece together for Silentium." And I do it again.

So I'm trying Saturday afternoon instead. Don't know if there's any more clarity than I might achieve in the evening but at least I haven't gone to sleep -- yet.


  1. it is understandable. Isn't it early evening, or rather in the evening, which is mostly devoted for contemplation? You have made a wise choice going with Saturday afternoon, and our dearest Blessed Mother to help you besides! After all, for her it was a matter of "knowing" wasn't it?, "et valde mane".

  2. Thank you for your response. I confess to being a "morning monk" in the ancient tradition of the Trappists and Carthusians. By late afternoon and early evening, I've absorbed the day's drama and often can think of little else.

    The Native Americans who once occupied the piece of land I'm sitting on were convinced that the sun wouldn't rise without their prayerful help. Perhaps their spirit is present.