Tuesday, March 30, 2010

The Laboratory


DO IT!
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Ask a question using 4 words or less, but not more.




breathe in

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breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out


breathe in

breathe out




Go back to the Question,

Or

Turn the Page.


(By Amy E. Cohen and Francisco Varela, 1995)


Taken from the Video: "Monte Grande", about the life of Francisco Varela

DVD 501 MON

Monday, March 29, 2010

The Terrifying and the Sublime--Life as an Orchestral Percussionist







Saturday night. Carmina Burana. Jack Singer.

I review my set up: snare drum, triangle, suspended cymbal, glockenspiel, tam tam, mallets. All is well. I smile at one of the pianists. I take a few deep breaths. I say my process cues: "Energy. Connect. Go for it." The conductor begins the piece; the timpanist and pianists unleash the electrifying opening. Breath is normal. My tam tam notes are fine.

Pick up the snare drum sticks. CRAP: already the fight or flight response kicks in. My heart rate increases, trembling increases. I get through the snare drum movement. Sub optimal performance--my first entrance dragged. I pick up the triangle. I'm still trembling. There's a ball of fire in my chest. I try to calm down. "Calm down!" I'm screaming at myself. I picture sandy beaches. My trembling relaxes a little. "Calm down." I command, more calmly. I get through the triangle movement.

Glockenspiel. Hands still trembling. I try to breathe deeply and relax. I get through it. Slightly better.

I sit. My hands are still trembling. My mind is racing. Despair hovers. "This is not fun. What's happened to me in the last month? Two orchestra shows with the shakes. They weren't good performances. Will I be hired again? Maybe I should've gotten those beta-blocker drugs for today. Can I even get through this show? Something's broken inside."

But I just got through those movements of Carmina. More sandy beaches. Waves. The Cayman Islands. "I can do it," I say to myself. I try the litany: "I've prepared, I've practiced, I've done this a thousand times before, I can do this."

I smile at one of the pianists, try to connect to his energy and sense of fun and play. Hands trembling less. More snare drum movements. Despite the jittery start I'm actually calm now. Confidence starts to build.

And somehow, fighting through the terror and despair, I finally find the zone. The elusive zone. I've been there before. Is it the "optimal performance" state people talk about? Perhaps. I'm calm. I'm confident. I look forward to playing the next notes. I can feel a certain energy, as if I'm part of a river. Everything is clear around me. I hear and see and connect. I go for it. I'm excited. There is no fear. My muscles execute and cooperate. Endorphins releasing? Feels so good. So good to perform in this space. I used to play "here" all the time.

The rest of the piece goes extremely well. Carmina Burana ends. The audience gives us a standing ovation. I'm elated. I couldn't believe I got through the terror. Did more. I found the elusive zone. The previous concert I couldn't release the fear.

A choir director congratulates me on my triangle and glock playing.

The terrifying and the sublime.

If only I could experience just the sublime. But then, maybe the terrifying intensifies the sublime?

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Is Being Happy Vulgar?




Orhan Pamuk, Turkish writer, Nobel Prize winner, wrote in his collection of essays, "Other Colors", that people capable of happiness are either stupid or evil. My heart skipped a beat when I read that. But he follows with a lighter thought: that, perhaps being happy is not vulgar, that it actually "takes brains".

I began to wonder how many of my friends and acquaintances are happy. And what does that mean, to be happy? Is it just being cheerful? Or is there another layer, something more like joy perhaps? And how do we find that? Most people I know seem to lead lives that settle around a certain emotional centre of gravity. There are some who seem to be struggling with a terrible anger. Others flattened by depression. Some seem emotionally disconnected (I believe most of us probably have disowned shadow aspects). Some seem actually joyous. Happy. The whole gamut.

How do we develop our emotional set point, our emotional centre of gravity? Is it partly in the genes? Somehow connected to the collective genetic pool? In terms of the physicality of their face, why is it that some people can smile :) more easily, while others can frown :( and lower the corners of their mouths more easily? So perhaps partly biology, chemicals, and hormones. And perhaps it is partly environmental factors: emotional zones at work, play, or home; the techno-economic base we live in. Perhaps it is partly personal choices, and brains, and thinking. Good heavens, thinking! And maybe--not thinking! What about various spiritual practices? Or is there something else too? So then, all of it?

Now the big question: can we shift that emotional set point? Is it possible? How?

Complex. Complicated. So many factors to consider.

I believe it is possible--in my case it took probably at least five years of conscious effort, with lots of setbacks. It takes work and hope, and like Orhan, I believe it takes brains.
At least.