Recipe for Resurrection

Da Capo…

Translated from Italian, Da Capo is a musical term meaning “from the beginning.” I was introduced to it through poet, Jane Hirschfield.

In her poem, Da Capo, she offers a kind of recipe for how to… Begin again the story of your life. Something I have come to realize we need to do everyday, sometimes in bigger, more transformational ways.

Her recipe is a kind of blessing for the heart, body, mind and spirit.

In a world where efficiency is god, productivity reigns supreme and accomplishments are ranked according to metrics for monetary success, her recipe sounds superfluous, irrelevant and yet critical to our soul’s survival.

In a world that seesaws between self-indulgence and self-flagellation, she offers simply solace. A step-by-step holistic assist.

Da Capo

By Jane Hirshfield

 

Take the used-up heart like a pebble

and throw it far out.

 

Soon there is nothing left.

Soon the last ripple exhausts itself

in the weeds.

 

Returning home, slice carrots, onions, celery.

Glaze them in oil before adding

the lentils, water, and herbs.

 

Then the roasted chestnuts, a little pepper, the salt.

Finish with goat cheese and parsley. Eat.

 

You may do this, I tell you, it is permitted.

Begin again the story of your life.

“Take the used-up heart like a pebble/ and throw it far out.”

I used to think this line pertained to broken or lost love. I took the “used-up heart” to symbolize the end of a relationship. Only now, years of readings later, has it dawned on me the ripples of this heart.

Sadness, fear, anger and loss to name a few.

The tiniest sadness can feel epic.

Rushing your children through the morning in a way that loses track of their sweet eyes and spontaneous smiles… epic. The fear… our dream will not float. The anger… our efforts seem fruitless.

The loss of willingness to show up in our own life.

The reasons why, my reasons why, are many.

Always excuses for not facing my truth.

Because, what if my truth is really bullshit? What if cannot hold water? Sinks like a stone. I am afraid to let go. I like to collect pebbles. Arrange them in a bowl, like small symbolic reminders that I was there.

But soon, they collect dust. They become a chore to care for. Another possession that must be tended to. A burden.

My used up heart is a burden.

I have decided to let it go.

To “throw it far out. Let the last ripple exhaust itself in the weeds.”

This feels like complete insanity. And yet, somehow, it tastes like freedom. I don’t love lentil soup. But I do love metaphorical soup. And I do love nourishing my body, mind and spirit with what I know feels good.

With the books I know remind me of who I am, the buttering of French bread, the grilling of salmon with pepper and salt and lemon juice, the crispness of freshly washed garden greens, the pouring of cold white wine and a simply set table for two.

Following the recipe matters.

Process settles the nerves. Order calms the mind.

And deliciousness soothes the soul.

The fundamental act of feeding oneself. We forget to do this when we become stressed, when we feel used up. We forget the consolation of deliciousness.

Sensory deliciousness – the pink of the salmon and white linen napkin, the crack of the bread’s crust, the mineral cool of wine on the tongue, the feel of truth swirling around in our body.

This feels, somehow, too indulgent.

It is easier to stew in resignation or flop around in resistance. We have come to see genuine self-care as excessive when ironically it is the obsessive problem solving and quick fix solution finding that keeps us nailed to the cross of our suffering.

Genuine self-care promises the opportunity to “Begin again the story of your life.”

Hirschfield assures us, “You may do this, I tell you, it is permitted.”

She seems to know we need it.

We are scared of truly beginning again. I am. We know how to keep going. We know how to persevere. We know how to work harder and longer and smarter.

But begin again?

That involves real letting go. Real change. Real courage.

This is what I am currently embarking upon. Anyone who has been reading the Pilgrim for a while may remember my New Year’s Resolution – to see through illusion.

In order to do this, we must, as Rumi says, “Not seek for love, but seek to find the obstacles we have put in its way.” So, that is what I am trying to do, to remove the illusions I have put in the way of following my inner voice.

Like… I must be at the agency to fulfill my role there. Like… it’s a waste of time to start a new album without a collaborative partner fully on board. Like… unless I push my dreams forward they will not come to pass.

These are illusions.

Obstacles in the way of believing what sounds true over what sounds sensible.

So, I am cleaning up my shoulds and coulds.

Tuning in to what sounds true… to me. Letting go of what I think others want me to be or do and aligning with what moves me, in the heart-felt hope it will move others. This tuning in has resulted in three decisions.

First, I am in the process, with Joe, of reinventing my role and direction at the agency. Second, I have joyously begun lyrics for my third album. Third, because of this new endeavor, The Pilgrim will now be reaching out just on Sundays.

Sunday Offerings

The focus for the Sunday edition is slightly different. It is based on the idea that we can begin again. We can begin each week with an intention that makes us come alive. We can infuse the upcoming week with meaning.

The boys and I have been doing this on our morning drive to school for the past six months. We each set our intention for that day. That particular day. Whatever we feel called to focus on.

We listen for it.

And then step into the day, fortified with it.

When I take it seriously, because some days I dive directly into my self-created drama, it is like a magic wand, transforming doubt, frustration, irritation and despair into the clay of creation. A new way to shape the day.

It doesn’t change anything. And yet, it changes everything.

It simply offers a new perspective, another way to see– a silver lining.

And often, that’s all we really need. Tune in Sunday for The Pilgrim’s first offering.