And So We Begin

It is 4 in the morning. I’m sitting alone in the lobby of the Clyde Hotel, listening to Chet Baker. Awoke at 3:30 am and it was one of those middle-of-the-night awakenings when I could tell there was no getting back to sleep. I have a roommate, so turning on the lights and writing or reading is not an option. So why not come down to the lobby?

 

I’m at my 41^st Orff National Conference, the place I’ve come for 39 consecutive Novembers from 1984 up to now (with my first Conference in 1976 and my second in 1982) for my ritual renewal. One of those markers where we arrive with the same name and identity but with our ever-changing bodies and psyches and relationships to the venue. All those years hoping to rise up through the ranks (I did), trying to prove myself to myself and others, make real my inner conviction that I had something to offer. Suddenly, I’m one of the elders and though more work lies ahead, I come having done most of it. 

 

So a series of recognition from younger people and such immense satisfaction that so little has to do with superficial fame or adoration. One thanks me for one of my lesser known books (Sound Ideas) that saved her when, as a beginning teacher she looked through the activities and thought, “I can do this!” And she did and the kids loved it and so did she. Another mentions appreciation for an article on improvisation I had written for the new Orff Echo magazine just published. Another entered an elevator with just me in it and quipped, “Ooh! I’m in the VIP elevator!” Turns out that he was one of the other authors in the recent magazine and I had literally just read his article on the plane! And complemented him for it. Yet another came up to me and expressed appreciation for The Secret Song film she had seen. And yet another for the Jazz, Joy & Justice book she had just bought.

 

There at an opening evening workshop were some 25 students I had taught at the SF International Orff Course, this moving and forever community. And the teacher was also one of my students and in fact, I was the officiant at her wedding and her husband is the drummer in my Pentatonics Jazz Band. She did a wonderful job!

 

But the most moving was a man who looked me in the eye and testified, “I am a completely different person. I’m calm, joyful and for the first time in 21 years of teaching, having wonderful classes with the kids. Because I’m more relaxed, they are happy and that makes me yet happier.”

 

“What happened to change you?” I asked.

 

“First, there was that workshop you gave in Oklahoma that opened the door to possibilities I hadn’t even dreamed about before. But the real answer is that I almost died recently. So now instead of taking everything for granted, I’m deeply gratefully for every moment and determined to fully savor this life.”

 

Isn’t that the way it often is? We need a crisis to shake us out of our complacency and remind us to get to work. My idea is to do it now, no matter what your circumstance. Don’t wait for disaster to strike before you take it seriously. But when it does, receive it as a gift of sorts, unimaginable in the pain and suffering of whatever struck you, but awaiting you at the other end. This is not only true personally, but collectively as well. How else to face the disaster of the daily news and the extremes of climate pressing down on us? Business as usual will not do, especially when it is the way we’ve done business that has caused and continues to cause so much of our collective pain and suffering.

 

Last night’s workshop was about sharing amongst ourselves our intentions for the Conference. I see the Orff Schulwerk as a radical renewal of our humanitarian promise. Yet those who encounter it bring the assumptions of their mainstream culture with them. In the American case, our habits of distraction via screens and machines, our surface skimming of culture with fast food, action movies, loud pop music, our excessive consumption and monetizing of every impulse, inevitably enters the room with us. So the radical possibilities of the Schulwerk are often reduced to the cute and contrived, the recipe and the formula, the search for stuff, for over-sugared food easily digested. It takes a rigorous awareness and intention to notice this and refuse it. 

 

So in the Intention workshop, my hope for both myself and all was “to renew old vows and consider new ones.” Others talked about taking risks, moving out of comfort zones, being more wholly present. It was a promising beginning to what looks like it will be a soul-stirring Conference. 

 

At the moment, though, I have only one intention. That I can sleep a bit more before the 8:00 am workshop. At 5:00 am, not looking promising. Wish me luck!