Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Something light for today

It's been a heavy few days for me, and I'm not sure when things will lighten up. It's like my sky is covered with thick, dark stormclouds. It looks like when the storm comes, it will be a doozy, with whipping winds and stinging rain and fierce lightning and violent thunder. But now, there is a very heavy sense of expectation, of foreboding. So... something light.

Yesterday, I brought home the two Rilke books I'd placed on hold. They are heavenly.

Today is J.S. Bach's birthday. Happy birthday, dude! I'll have to play my favorite sonata (the one in E-flat) tonight for you. Here's hoping my fingers can still keep up with that third movement! (It's #10 here, played by a very young Rampal, but 8 and 9 are my favorites.)

Last night, I went to class. This class is being taught by video teleconferencing, at four different centers. I am very thankful that I'm not at the campus center, where the professor is, because at my center, we spend the class griping about and mocking the professor. She has a positive gift for avoiding questions, and uses every trick in the book to shut down open discussion. The examples she uses are all out of everyday life. It's nice to have some examples from everyday life, to help us relate to the material. But then, give us some examples from industry. We're in this class to be trained as managers. I don't need an MBA to manage my kitchen, thankyouverymuch. Every week, it takes longer for me to settle my mind after this class. I get home around 10pm, and I have to get up at 6 the next morning. But every week, I'm up later, reading, blogging, web-surfing, to try to release some of the tension. Well, only five lectures left, and then the final exam.

I have at my desk here at the office, two poems by Hafiz that are placed inside magnetic frames and hung on my overhead storage bin. One, you've already seen. The other is this:

We Should Talk About This Problem

There is a Beautiful Creature
Living in a hole you have dug.

So at night
I set fruit and grains
And little pots of wine and milk
Beside your soft earthen mounds,

And I often sing.

But still, my dear,
You do not come out.

I have fallen in love with Someone
Who hides inside you.

We should talk about this problem-

I will never leave you alone.

Can you hear God's voice there? I hope so. I found this poem in my desk at home a few nights ago, when I was idly rummaging through the drawer. I'm so glad I found it!

Hmm... let's see if I can find a gratuitous cute pet picture to close with. Ah, here's a good one!