The Vale of Tears

 

"As they pass through the valley of tears, they make it a place of springs.”

                                         –  Psalm 84:6

 

That well describes our closing circle of our Level III Orff course. As with the Jazz Course a month earlier, there was nary a person sharing their final sentiments around the circle that did not speak through the mist (or shower!) of tears. It wasn’t the first time during the course that the waters were flowing and I myself told some ten or twelve stories in which my voice caught and the trickle began. Always a signal that the body’s cells that store both our traumas and epiphanies were calling forth moments of great beauty and tender emotion. Stories often about kids or sometimes elders who themselves are unexpectedly moved by a musical experience or a moment in music class when some truer self jumped out of its hiding place and revealed itself to both the person and all those present. 

 

And indeed, beyond the carefully crafted and effective musical activities, the well-designed sequences and development of material, the imaginative fairy dust that sprinkles everything with a touch of magic, this is perhaps the best I have to offer as a teacher of teachers. A model of someone vulnerable, openly moved and unabashedly willing to cry in front of the group— and thus, give them permission to accept their own tears speaking the grand emotions that few people want to see. 

 

But I do. And stumbling into this translation of a Bible passage above, I feel the truth that a walk through the valley of tears creates springs from which the waters of our true life flows. That water that we need to quench our inmost thirst, that brings life to all plants, that cleanses and refreshes and heals us in a perpetual baptism. 

 

Our closing circle with tissues on hand, with choking sobs amidst heartfelt testimonies, was the final group evaluation ten thousand times more meaningful than a Google form. From that closing circle, the 27 graduates walked through the singing tunnel of some 60 other Levels students and then joined the spiral of all three Levels and the teachers singing our closing canon, punctuated at the end by the youngest student sounding the small Tibetan bowl and the oldest ringing the large one, as they did in the opening ceremony. Three times each one and they both ring together. Amidst the powerful vibrations of the bowls and the deep silence came the punctuated sobs of more people and as we hugged at the end, once more, there was barely a dry eye in the house. The springs were flowing and the world was refreshed.

 

Friends, this is not normal and all praise to “not normal!” This tiny “Hidden Valley” in the Carmel Valley is both a mountain peak of great joy and a valley of tears and they both are necessary to each other. Now we all will disperse back to the world of “have a nice day,” where a little hiccup of impending tears is often accompanied by “I’m sorry!”, where everything conspires to make us feel less because it sometimes hurts. And so we let the world swallow us with distraction, with hyper-speed addictive sensation, with deadly boring meetings talking about everything that doesn’t matter. It can be a difficult transition.

 

But for the 92 people who had the good fortune to spend these two weeks together, it will be a forever place of comfort and connection, one we all can return to time and time again in our imagination. Praise to it all and may the springs gush forth.