People only understand things to the level to which they are prepared to understand, and what keeps me from being overly frustrated with others is addressing how true that is with me as well, as I look back over the last two decades of my life. But sometimes, you just get to where you need Serge Bortkiewicz to just work that piano and help you get through it...
I started my journey toward being a first-time author in 2005, and was a five-time author by 2023. Both of those bookends happened the same way: looking at someone younger than myself that needed a guide that did not exist in their area of interest that they could relate to, and so realizing I was called to create it.
What I did not realize at that time is that I am called as a minister, not as the world's idea of an expert.
I also did not realize until this year that I did a lot out of survivor's guilt, and out of not wanting to go alone, especially when I knew what I knew could help others as it has helped me. So I went down the path that I understood, and published all those books and did all that came with that along with everything else in life, and became aware of what blessed me more than anything else in it: my joy came in seeing the blessings to others. That is part of why Hive's long sojourn around 20 cents does not disturb me as much as it does others ... I enjoy the little bit of blessing I can do every day here!
But I did not account for the reality that if one has not been led the way I have been led, then one may not be able to see and perceive and make use of what I can. 20 years on, and people all along that 20 years of access are still coming to me on things they have had years to learn so that they would no longer need to come to me. They could be at my level, and that was my desire all along ... there is no knowledge that I have that I would not be happy to see all have it and benefit from it. I am not standing on anything I know as needing to hoard it to feel like I am better than anyone else. I do not see myself as in competition with others in that way; the same Blessed Hand Who has touched my life has plenty even in common grace for everyone.
But I am not 24 any more. I have learned 20 years of hard lessons, and for 15 years I did not even understand what I was learning: to the masses, there is no bridge, there never was, and I can write and teach and speak and plead all I like, but I still cannot build it, for I can put in no one sufficient desire to reach out for a different kind of life.
In business last week I was near Presidio National Park, and while tramping around the general neighborhood on approach to it, I received an object lesson about my life that I did not expect, but that came right on time.
In the last three years, in which I could have died three times, I had to come to firm terms with even the right-looking path that in fact was not right. I was doing all the things in all sincerity, with all goodwill, but since there was no bridge --
-- to persist would have meant my death, for slow-creeping anemia can also be thought of as a very slow exhausting of the blood of the iron necessary to maintain hemoglobin, and therefore maintain life.
The above pictures are of the strangest non-entrance to Presidio National Park in San Francisco: it looks right until you get to the staircase that leads to a six-foot drop to the road. I suspect that in the past, there was an entrance there, but then someone cut the road, and left the old staircase. A lack of concentration in an evening could still lead to a deadly drop, since drivers would hardly be expecting a person to fall on the road there. By the grace of God it was bright morning, and I am in full possession of my mind! So, I simply turned around and went back up the staircase.
But I would face more subtle tests along this way, for upon walking further west I did find the actual Arguello Gate...
... but I would have needed to walk down to the better-known Presidio Gate, down the road beneath the staircase, and then down into the park, and because I know how far down that road had to go, I knew that I could, but also, with the cumulative exertion of the day, that I had best not do it. Doable, but not for me that day.
Then I turned around and began to walk up the road to the west, for the sign said that Mountain Lake, where I have long desired to go, was not that far off ...
But after a while it dawned on me where I was actually entering: the Presidio Golf Course.
I was going to have to get around it -- a whole 18-hole golf course -- and sharply downhill, to get across to Mountain Lake. Could I do it? Absolutely. Was it advisable? No. Cumulative exertion for the day would end up being too high. Nothing inherently wrong with the walk. It just was not the right day for me to do it.
To be led from what is obviously wrong is one thing. To be led from what is a good thing, but not good for you, is another matter.
I realized then, sitting down for a moment where I was, that I had reached the end of the journey of 20 years, without regret. I had to learn and come by the way that I did through five books and many other things ... good paths, many people helped ... but from here on, whatever my choices would be, they would be informed by the fact that that it is not for me to exert myself trying to take people with me who are not called to go, no need for me to live as other than who I am called to be, and no point to attempt such journeys any more.
So, thus instructed, I turned toward home and all the things that awaited me to do along the way and there... still a little bit of a walk to the nearest bus, and enough to do...
Later in the week, I heard back that I was not accepted to one of the opportunities I had applied for, but then I saw the lineup of who was ... all excellent, but that was not the right fit for me. The organizers were right ... and so was the Blessed Hand in closing that door to me ... but I had to laugh later because of another door opening that does fit in my wheelhouse and potentially is 10-100 times bigger if last year's numbers are any guide. I had to laugh.
Still later ... I dreamed of being on a long road trip ... the road was interesting as only dream roads can be, but the unseen driver definitely knew his stuff and navigated without a single error. So I arrived alone at a humble place, and found that my necessities were provided there, and then looked up and saw tables full of simple but excellent food, and that there were others there enjoying who would be my companions ...
Upon waking, I realized this was Schubert's "Aus Heliopolis II" and Brahms's "Mit vierzig Jahren" reconsidered in the age of freeways and motor vehicles ... the long and difficult journey away from the crowds of the world, the accepting of the reality of solitude, and, at long last, finding suitable companions who have likewise made the journey.
Yet there is a tension there between the song of Schubert and the song of Brahms ... in the first, one finds one's companions in this life, and in other, in the next. Brahms actually set many poems of this sort, and it just so happens that I know four of them as a set because Kurt Möll sang them, four in a row from "Mit vierzig Jahren" in his collection of songs by Brahms.
The four last songs begin with "Mit Vierzig Jahren" at 10:55, but you are welcome to listen to the whole album!
Brahms says plainly because of what he chooses to write: for some, the need for true companionship will not be met in this world, but in the next. Schubert, because he did have his circle of poets and musicians to the end of his life, saw it as possible in this life without as much concern about the next. Interestingly, Bach through his family and Bruckner as a bachelor through his students split the difference: both brought up the holy community they needed ... and, I see that kind of move opening to me because at 44, I already have an adult generation of students. By age 60, I will have two such generations.
But for now ... the first things have been done. The journey of three years moving away from the crowd has really taken twenty years. I am where I am supposed to be now. I have also now seen what would have happened to me had I persisted in the way I was not to go. For it is true in all directions: there is no bridge. But there is ever light above me, in the way I am going. The pain is at times intense ... I am human ... but again and again I am encouraged in the way.
Speaking of encouragement ... the portal of imagination opened while I was on my way to work, so I arrived at work to find everyone going on and on about autumn roses in the boardroom, and a note on my desk: "Ich lade dich morgen früh zum Frühstück ein."
I looked up and a rose -- white, blushed pink, cultivar "Old Blush" -- appeared in a flash and landed gently on my desk, after which the words appeared: "Deine Altesrouge."
"Showoff!" I said, and the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past materialized for a moment and let me see him laughing for a split second as my workmates in other rooms looked out the window.
"Deeann, did you hear that -- I know it is raining today, but they didn't say anything about thunderstorms!" one came in and said.
"You just never know," I said. "Got to be ready for everything."
The next morning dawned beautifully, so I got up and got ready and bounced out of the door -- a perfect day for anywhere I liked to go, although I did not know yet where.
The Ghost of Musical Greatness Past stepped down and around the corner just before I got to the bottom of my stairs, and he closed the distance between us before I reached the nearest corner.
"Guten Morgen,"* he purred to announce himself as he overtook and then fell into step beside me, resplendent in his "Lord Autumn" red-brown hiking suit setting off his mostly-salt-but-enough-pepper-left hair and dark eyes-- managing about 55 that day!
"Good morning -- Guten Morgen!" I said. "Danke für die Einladung zum Frühstück -- thank you for inviting me to breakfast!"
"Gern geschehen, mein Blumenkind," he purred.
He did not indicate he was turning the corner at the corner, so we kept walking and turned at the next one, and went on some distance to a different bus stop, where the bus we needed came into sight down the hill.
"I wish you would have me fuss you into next week in the highest of German tradition -- I wish you would pull out your bus card, Frau Mathews," he said as I was just about to do that. "I don't get to fuss on high -- please tempt me!"
"It is a beautiful day and I am not called to subject you to any temptation," I said as I took the Clipper card he pulled out for me. "I'm Parsifal's little sister, not Kundry!"
It took until the bus got there for him to get his laughter somewhat under control, he who in his mortal years had enjoyed the role of holy knight Gurnemanz in Wagner's Parsifal so much. Yet we had scarcely gotten on and seated before I said, "Danke, Herr Gurnemanz!" and enjoyed his laughter gently bubbling up and over that whole bus.
"I should make a note to myself," he said at last, "that you are catching up in the art of comedy."
"You should have made that note last summer, but y'all men and y'all overconfidence..."
By this time, people had taken the ear buds out of their ears and looked up from their phones in pleasant astonishment ... a man of mature age just openly rejoicing was uncommon enough, but his size and even more prepossessing voice made it a phenomenon. His joy had carried entire opera houses, and had reached out and carried millions on YouTube even after that ... it was light work to lift up a full bus, and for that little while, people noticed themselves noticing the smiles and joys of everyone else! Real conversations budded out!
"Man, look, can we hire you as an ambassador for public transportation?" the driver said as we were getting off. "All these ridership problems would be over!"
"Hadn't thought about it for a career change, but, I will look it up!" he said cheerfully, and as he and the driver had a good laugh, a wise elder lady gently pulled my jacket.
"Listen, young lady -- don't mess this up," she said. "He's old but he is gifted in love to the point that he will never lack. Don't mess this up."
"Yes, ma'am," I said.
I thought about what she said. Historically, that was true of my companion in his mortal days; I just never had thought about that as a phenomenon.
I was thinking so hard I looked up in the redwood grove -- renamed Heroes Grove since my last visit in the summer of 2024 --
-- walking up past some lovely things --
-- into San Francisco's Rose Garden on the morning shaded side!
"Oh my -- I did not know there was an autumn rebloom!" I said.
"As you did not know you would rebloom after three, or 20, years of hard pruning, yet you are, and you will, mein geliebtes Blumenkind."
There was so much to see, and the freshness of the morning plus the mingled scent of the roses was so delightful ...
"Did you want to walk around the garden before or after breakfast?" he said.
"Do you mind if I work up an appetite first?" I said.
"Not at all," he said. "This is a morning to be filled with beauty, indeed."
So we walked on ... there was so much to see in and around the garden ...
... we walked the paths inside...
... but also outside, up to the reflecting pond, where the summer's heat had given a strange gift: the algae had sealed it in a cover of jade, such that if you did not know it was a pool, and it were late in the day, you could accidentally walk right into it ...
"I am reiterating the lesson of the week in a slightly different way, Frau Mathews, in bringing you here," he said. "Here, even surrounded by beauty, and even still beautiful, this is what happened to the reflecting pond because it cannot maintain itself: it is no longer serving its purpose. This is a visual of what can happen if we do not attend to walking how we are called... subtly, and even beautifully to the eye, we can be off track and not even know it."
As we walked up and away from there, he continued.
"You have read in the portions of my biography available in English that I studied cello, and that I wanted to be an industrialist. I would have worked at both with the same will that I did singing, and to externals I might have done just as well. Yet at some point someone would have still said to me, listening to me singing while I did anything and everything else, that I ought to consider singing.
"You see, Frau Mathews, the universe is set up such that at some point, we will hear the truth. We are better maintained than any pond in this park. But there is a portion to it that is of our will: we must listen, and understand, and then choose to act on the truth. The irony: the determination to do the third is what enables the first and the second."
I had to think about that for a long moment, for it opened up another vista in my mind.
"Suppose things at Presidio National Park are as you suppose: that staircase was at one time an actual entrance. Suppose we were there and you were arguing with me about it right up to the staircase and we did not know until we were on it how dangerous it was -- and suppose I were still mortal."
"Oh, we're both dead," I said, "because whoever sees it first is going to forget the argument and try to save the other, and we're both too heavy and are going into the road, hard -- and then the cars -- yeah, no."
"Both of us intent on being right -- not knowing or paying attention and understanding the truth of that staircase -- so much that goes wrong happens just that way, Frau Mathews.
"This is also why I said to you last spring that you know the side of loving -- you take such pains over everyone else, to remove all obstacles from their way, but you had yet to learn the side of being loved, to be given the rest and protection that love desires to give the beloved."
He paused, and then dazzled me with his smile.
"It has been my delight, since last summer, to watch you set upon learning ... taking the occasion a bout of Covid-19 gave you to just see in recovery what would happen if you did not fight your way back up to all the things."
"Schubert's 'Selige Welt' helped to open my mind and heart," I said, "thou good and faithful echo of what turned out to have been Matthew 11:28."
He reverently recited it for my hearing enjoyment: "Come unto Me, all you that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."
"In December 2023 I heard that sung in my dreams by y'all's choir above," I said. "In December 2024 I heard it said to me, 'I promised you I would -- now I have done so!'"
"You believed, and thus received -- but you have seen nothing yet!" he said to me. "You have been through so much loss and pain, climbing, walking the path ... resting from who and what is not for you ... going on alone ... you do not know, as life's natural griefs also continue to impact you as well ... but the moments of overwhelming joy that you are sometimes experiencing now are just a glimpse ... just a glimpse of what is ahead of you ...
"You are just beginning in this 15-18 months to know what it is to rest in such a love as there is for you... you are just beginning!"
His eyes and his face were ablaze with the passionate joy in his voice.
"But as you walk as you are called, you are seeing as you are going ... and while by discipline you are having to turn down even good things that are not for you, more and more and in due time you shall look upon the things that are, all around you!"
We stepped back into the Rose Garden, and it was even more beautiful in the rising sunshine.
"Now that is some stage timing," I said.
"You know that I am intent on doing my best for you, Frau Mathews," he said, and then, in that bright entrance, sang "Selige Welt," the song of a man who finds himself in a blessed world, simply because even though he is in a boat he cannot steer, it was sent for him to escape a land of darkness, and thus wherever he lands in a world of light, he will be blessed.
The singer's joy was so intense as he channeled it down into that little song for little me ... the warmth and the brightness and the scent of the roses combined with his singing gave me another glimpse of the future ... no matter how far distant ... but also confirmed to me that I was able to enjoy as I was going, and everything not right for me that I refused left room for more what was ... simple humble joys ... bus fare and a sunny morning, and this.
And also this ... for singing hardly calmed him down, and he could not be physically tired of it any more ... he was in a fiery ecstasy of joy, and there was nothing for it but more singing!
"You have come so far and through so much -- all that sturm und drang -- storm and stress -- just so you could be brought into this light!"
I knew what he was referring to ... "Rollend in schäumenden Wellen," my favorite thing in Haydn's "Creation" ... he took the moment to deal with the recitative and regroup, to pace himself, but he was going to sing through all those rolling waves into that beautiful light of a world revealed and renewed in peace!
Indeed, he did his utmost best ... and then saw the utter joy of his face reflected in mine, for I saw my own reflection in his dark eyes.
"I see what you are singing," I said, and he glowed up so brightly that it took everything the autumn sun could do to stay ahead.
"You have not heard anything yet!" he cried, "for there shall be more voices than mine ahead of you, to welcome you -- the harmony to which you shall come! Oh, mein geliebtes Blumenkind, on the day that I can just quietly sing low bass in that for you -- when you shall know that blessing!"
That height of power, combined with that depth of humility ... also a glimpse of who I longed to become, and in whose company I would find such harmony ... for I had heard him thus in quartet singing in Bruckner and Beethoven's big masses and especially the last portion of Bruckner's Te Deum...
... he blended so well with the other soloists at such moments that one cannot pick out his individual voice ... but somehow the bass line is uniquely firm and rich, and that makes the entire harmony and everyone else in it sound even better. To be able to literally take the lowest place, and from there lift everybody up ... the height of power in the depth of humility... in some ways, it is his most beautiful singing.
Then, though, I had another thought -- just how big did a room, the skills of other people, and a piece of music need to be for him to be able to do that? Now, he could sing softly ... he was a master of that ... but, for him to sing full out and be able to blend, what were we even dealing with?
That sized the real questions I was pacing my mind to deal with: I know where I shall be at the end of my walk, but given the ability I know I have, how many rooms would I need to walk past first just because they were not sized right?
My phone buzzed, and rarely did I answer it when out in the park, but I felt it was necessary to do that -- I had gotten the information back on a composer opportunity, but ... .
"It's for composers who need to learn how to write two minutes of music in a week," I said as I read. "It's a good symposium, though -- I had hoped to connect with some other composers, but --."
In the same way I write a new story or two on Hive every day, I can compose a two-minute piece of music a day, every day, if I put my mind to it. I have been able to do that since I was sixteen years old. That symposium wasn't big enough for me, and I would not be able to blend into the harmony of the other people there. They might be wonderful composers, and wonderful people -- I just was not a match for them, at their stage of the creative journey.
I felt the disappointment deeply ... I am human and have the same longings as everyone else ... but I politely declined the invitation and turned off the phone, and then looked up to see the deep compassion in the face of my companion.
"I would not think at this point that Earth could offer me any wonder I could not have seen on high," he said, "but I was wrong. I see why it is written that there are things about the redeemed in the Redemption that angels want to look into."
"What?" I said as I started laughing from sheer confusion.
"A more advanced technique, known to the world of medicine; if you can't take the pain from the patient yet, distract her."
He had me rolling laughing, just that quick, before finishing his very deep thought.
"This old professor has seen with his own eyes -- well, his ethereal approximation of his eyes -- the moment that you graduated in your understanding, and passed the test that was tripping you up three years ago ... and twenty years ago. You just graduated, Frau Mathews, not in picture along the way, but in fact."
I started, and was glad for his large and steadying hand at my shoulder.
"You're right -- I just didn't make the mistake of 2022 again!"
"And my heart rejoices for you, Frau Mathews -- mein Herz jubelt für dich -- for all the pain you shall have in that matter of that composers group that you cannot blend into has come, and gone."
Now that last part was audaciously said, but he knew what he was working with... his voice was gently ringing victory bells, and just in case that was not enough, his reprising the end "Rollend in schäumenden Wellen" after he embraced me left me no longer in the knowledge of what pain even was!
At last we came to a place to sit for a while, and his eyes twinkled.
"Frohe Oktoberfest!" he purred, "although I must say I neglected how to translate that into Spanish ... ."
I cracked up laughing, and he was just getting started...
"... But I do the best I can, Frau Mathews ... I was at the restaurant remembering that in German terms I would have been risking my life on the salsa verde, to say nothing of the salsa rojo --."
He was on a roll now ... pain was coming back into my life in terms of my poor ribs from laughing ...
"... but then I remembered that you truly are a daughter of the Global South, and so peppers are part of your heritage, and so you could drink both of those almost like water and will be happily dunking your burrito in both while I sit here glad I no longer have an actual stomach to imagine just becoming ceviche on the spot."
"Thank you for the great food and the laughter appetizer!" I said.
"My pleasure -- gern geschehen," he said as he started laughing himself.
The burrito with the two types of salsa was absolutely delicious.
"How you find these spots when you don't eat down here any more amazes me!" I said.
"Frau Mathews, I still read reviews, my approximation of a nose still works, and also, your palate is wonderfully receptive. I have observed you carefully this two years of our acquaintance."
His eyes twinkled.
"Slowly but surely, my plans to absolutely spoil you for the plans of people not expansive enough to do some work to bless you are advancing. Mwahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
That mock evil laughter of his -- I was never ready and could never keep from just breaking up, laughing!
"It is October and Halloween is upon us -- you know as a proper literary ghost and perennial comic villain I must be in top form," he purred as I laughed on.
"It's still 29 days to Halloween!" I said.
"Well, you don't become a world-famous opera star reaching millions even in permanent retirement by missing practice days, Frau Mathews."
He nearly rolled me off that bench with that retort!
"Oh no -- absolut nicht, meine schöne Dame, you will not escape my clutches that easily," he purred as he reached out and pulled me back, and then got tickled because I was so tickled such that neither of us could stop laughing for a while!
"Danke für deine schöene Einladung,"* I said at long last. "I have so enjoyed this morning!"
"Gern geschehen," he purred. "The pleasure of inviting you is entirely mine, meine liebe Dame."
He paused, and then his eyes flashed as the fire roused up in him that day showed itself again. He kept his voice gentle because I was so close to him, but I could hear his deep passion reverberating in the timbre of his voice.
"Remember this morning, Frau Mathews, when the thought of what you left and the disappointment of what and where you cannot join comes to mind and pains your heart -- remember this morning, in how that in walking away from what is not for you, you have walked to what is for you!"
"Es wird mir in Erinnerung bleiben," I said to him with a smile, and watched him melt because he knew what an effort that was for me to formulate in German when I could have just said it once in English: "It will stay in my memory."
"You are so kind to assure me in my own mother tongue, Frau Mathews ... so kind!"
"Well, maybe, but you should know that first, I'm trying to get you out of the mood of declaring stuff and shaking me clear through my DNA with that voice, and second, putting information in two languages means twice as much of my brain gets to hold onto it, but, hey: think what you want to think!"
It was his turn to nearly roll right off the bench, which comment I made to him as I gripped the back of his shirt until he caught his balance.
"You learn all too fast, Frau Mathews!" he said as he sat back up. "Don't have me changing the invitation schedule on you, young lady! I may have to get stern and only invite you out twice a week -- I mean, twice a day -- I mean --."
The old comedian would not be defeated -- he got best two out of three by rolling me right back the other way, laughing!
"Remember, they say never argue with an idiot because he will pull you down to his level and beat you through experience!" he said as he pulled me back and gathered me up again. "The same may as well be applied to any basso buffo profondo, Frau Mathews!"
"I wasn't trying to take you as an idiot!" I retorted while laughing in his embrace.
"And I just said you are so kind!" he retorted as he broke out laughing again too.
That all took a while, but afterward there was time enough for us to rest amidst the sight and scent of the roses and great redwoods, the song of the birds rejoicing, the golden warmth of the sunshine, and in deep gratitude and joy, all of which made that memory special.
