It is a rare occasion, in knowing a joyful man, that one surprises in him a depth of pain ... but it is not uncommon among the greatest comedians and comic actors that when given the opportunity, they have a well of sorrow to draw on that is shockingly deep. They present to mostas bright, but there is much more in the depths, just like in this glorious Adagio by Anton Bruckner. This is an epic journey at a gloriously slow speed, crossing a wide enough gamut of emotion that it is a relief to at last come home.
Now, of course I know this about the depth of experience of the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past, for he is the literary ghost of a childhood survivor of World War II near Cologne, which was bombed almost into dust before he was five years old. Life kept happening for him and Germany, after that. One would never know he was bothered about any of it, except on the rare occasions when he sang a role or a song that requires expressing deep sorrow. Then one would know that he knew sorrow as well and as intensely as he knew joy, and could communicate it as utterly.
But there was perhaps another reason, gently hinted at in an obituary and gently referenced in an interview near the end of his operatic career by August Everding. The man who had wanted to be an industrialist and literally rebuild his locale eventually left it so suddenly and completely that the only warning given for the home crowd was the picture he sent of himself and his wife in their new home in Munich, because the opera house there had made him an offer he chose not to refuse.
In United States, this move by a country villager would be surprising, even though moving for better opportunity is part of the story of the country itself. But in Germany, where families are tied to their villages and regions for hundreds of years, this was unthinkable, particularly since he was the brightest star from that region in music in that half century ... and particularly since so many hopes of the region regaining respect and prominence must have been resting on his broad shoulders. He asked neither permission nor forgiveness to put all that down. Atlas Shrugged is a fiction. Kurt Moll's choice was not.
What in the world could have caused that? It had boggled my mind for some years, because it took me just that long to really catch up with human nature even though my own community has its stories ... the most dangerous time for a woman in a relationship is her leaving it ... the most dangerous time for a young athlete is just before he or she is about to leave for college ... the most dangerous time to be successful is any time too many people know about it but don't see how they will be benefited by it ... but because I have stayed and ministered to my community for so long, I've never thought seriously about what the reaction would be if I let it be known that I was putting everything down and leaving for greener pastures.
When I let myself think about the scenarios, then it all began to make sense ... but then I had to reconsider certain other things, like "As much as I love the people around me, am I sure they could love me going and growing? What would I have to do if I could not be sure, and yet had to move?"
And then, the last decade of my life, and the leavings I have done through 2025, came into a whole new light ... I do know, instinctively. The thing is, when you are at a place in your life where you do not need forgiveness or permission, the best thing is to make the move and reach back when things calm down. By that time, people will sort themselves out -- or rather, in the title of a particular album with sweet beats but language and scenarios I can't quote even a minute of at a time, "Let God Sort 'Em Out." The title is perfect, at least, for the situation. It avoids one having to learn, by experience, what the dynamics of desperation, abandonment fears, jealousy, and envy can do in such situations, and it gives everyone time to sit with their feelings and do the work to resolve them without hurting anyone else.
Life surely has pain enough without dealing with either side of jealousy ... my parents' condition and some community blowups have taken much from me in the weeks since I last had time to write at length. I could not have dealt with the foolery of 2022 and 2023, or even that briefly in 2025, on top of the reality that would have overtaken me either way. I also could not have dealt with any of the internal feelings I would have had if I felt that anyone or anything that I left actually belonged to me and should have come with me. My grief was that of total loss, of yielding up all rights in order to have total freedom.
I do not know, however, what that looks like on the other side of a distance that those I left cannot now cross to me, nor am I permitted to return to them. There is no bridge. There is, however, the portal of imagination ... for on the fictional side of the fourth wall, I was already on the other side of a problem I did not even know I was in!
"We have already lost the entire winter to this little witch, whoever she is -- she took Herr Altesrouge and his voice away from us -- she bewitched him and took him from us, and he is scarcely back now!"
This member of the fan base was a very upset woman, being talked to by a calmer man.
"Perhaps ... but perhaps not ... the man surely has a life outside the park, and I gather he is commuting between here and Germany [the man was half right; the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past is indeed quite a long-distance traveler!] and sings when not on whatever other business he is on. Perhaps something came up back home this winter."
"But he came back to her before coming to us!" she snapped. "That voice is not meant for the private enjoyment of just one person -- we need him! We need some light and joy in our lives -- everyone can't afford to pay for all the things right now in order to make life worth even living!"
The man paused, and then sighed.
"It's been rough out here, indeed," he said. "Taking so many losses, and the world is indifferent, and then a voice of cheer is taken away."
The woman broke down and cried, and the man awkwardly embraced her to comfort her. There was no reasoning with that jealousy of hers; it came from too deep a place of pain. I could completely understand, given how many times that voice had been used in my life to keep me from dying of the pain of a grief-stricken heart. I also knew that she hated me utterly without even knowing me, and would put me out of the way if she could.
Out of the park and back into the city ... onto a bus to see the backs of some heads that were slightly familiar, and some voices too close for comfort...
"Went on and wrote that best-selling crypto book and ain't come down here to spend a single satoshi with us," one said to another.
"I would read the book except it just hurts to realize how she used all this to not need and want us any more," the other said.
"And of all people -- who would have thought that sweet little butterball of an old maid could have done that at this stage of her life?" the first one said. "If she could level up ... ."
"And didn't take us -- I hope Bitcoin crashed hard on her."
I stepped right off at the next stop, rattled by that, and walked the rest of the way to the rest of my business before going back to the park, and specifically Golden Gate Park's Oak Woodlands, to consider the realities on which I had based those imaginations. There were signs at the periphery in terms of others being jealous of resources I should not be, in their mind, able to access, and people jealous of what they thought they were entitled to from me because of old relationships. This was background noise. It stayed at that level because I gave it no attention but noting it in silence as I kept moving. It also stayed at that level because I stayed to myself and there was not much actual means to see how much my life had changed, not much to fixate on.
But suppose I was still in proximity -- or would still be in proximity on the day when changes they cannot benefit from are more fully revealed?
"And this, Frau Mathews, is where we begin our lesson."
The Ghost of Musical Greatness Past was walking down a crossing path behind me, and announced his presence with his unmistakable voice before overtaking me.
I noted that he was glowing up intensely, but this was not so much with joy ... he was of serious mood and manner, and I heard this in his voice -- grave as well as deep, and with an strong undercurrent of deep emotion.
"I wish to present this to you from the highest possible plane," he said, "but how does a finite man express the infinite depth of this matter?"
"The best he can will be plenty good enough," I said, and he smiled briefly for a moment.
"Ach, mein geliebtes, goldenes Blumenkind," he said tenderly, and then sighed before continuing, "I cannot but start from a place of love with you ... I represent the echo of the Love Above for you, about Whom it is yet said that He is jealous, so, in perfection, that is still possible. As reflected by me, still a finite man, it would not be perfect even though I am past all earthly temptations -- it is too large for me, and I will tell you where in a moment.
"But, as a finite man who loved to his capacity for that in his mortal life, I can tell you that if you were my adult daughter, and I saw you choosing evil companions, you might find me unpleasant in my zeal to warn you from that path, and those poor companions might find me unpleasant in discouraging them in alluring you. I might also be passionately angry about these matters, and that anger might even rise to hatred of your companions because of the evil they would tempt you to. That is a way to consider jealousy where it can remain holy -- because you are my daughter, I desire to keep you in all good that I can bless you with, and from all evil, and I have deep, strong passions around that."
"Here is the limit, however: as a man, I am not permitted in righteousness to interfere with your freewill. You have the right to choose your companions. This is part of why I held my peace late in 2024 when you thought some of your old companions had seen the light and you might again be in fellowship with them. I knew how deep your love for them was, and I could not be sure they would not come through. I knew, because of who you are, that you had to give them the last chance if there was one to be given."
He paused, and then said, "At bottom, Frau Mathews, our ability to choose is what makes us human. To deny you the right to choose also denies you the right to choose good as well, and have all the benefits of that choice. Because I love you, I want above all things that you should have those benefits, and because I am merely a man, I must not overrule the means of you having them: your free choice. God Himself has chosen to allow you choice. That should be enough for mere mortals."
"And this is where things must go off the track," I said, and he nodded gravely.
"It is, because the passion of jealousy is very strong," he said, "so strong that although I am subject to no earthly temptation, by the spring of 2025 I remembered very clearly what I might have done if I were still in the flesh when for the third time, certain people started showing you their trifling, hurtful ways. You can imagine that by way of my performance of Monterone in Rigoletto, or Fiesco in Simon Boccanegra."
Monterone is the one performance of his I will never listen to again -- he tapped into such a height of fury in singing that role of enraged father over his precious daughter that I had heart palpitations just listening to the recording! What a surprise -- and terrifying -- to know that he knew rage as well as he knew joy, but just chose not to share that often! His Fiesco -- a man driven almost to the point of blaspheming madness in his hate for the man who has taken from him daughter and granddaughter -- is hot enough, even considering that the audio is not ideal!
"I mention Fiesco," he said, "because Fiesco illustrates a point at least twice in Simon Boccanegra: he respects a limit most people simply cannot under such passion. He will not play God, and his refusal to do so gives time for the best resolution there can be to develop. That is important, for the only limit of how people will act in their jealousy toward anyone is how much they respect other people as having the same rights as they do. That is, the only limit is how much any individual understands that he or she does not have the right to play God, and overrule the freewill of others."
"Most people haven't thought that deeply about it," I said.
"And that, Frau Mathews, is why you and I both had to make quiet moves away from entire communities of people who may not have thought, but would certainly feel, and did not need to be given opportunity for individuals with little respect for the limits to act out."
"Oh ... that's why you had to move to Munich and tell folks in Cologne you were moving when you had already moved."
"And from that I will tell you this, Frau Mathews: you have been wise in your practice of not even trying to split the difference when you are called to move on. When people think that they are going to lose joy that they believe is wholly and solely theirs, all the dark sides of human nature can emerge. Many people will refuse to understand you are not intending to hurt them, because your decision reminds them that they are not as essential to you as you are to them, and sometimes... ."
He made his voice very gentle, applying pain relief in advance.
"And sometimes, in your specific case, people find out they will not be worshiped, because you answer to a higher call, and thus they must be left to know they are not who they like to think they are in your life."
I was instantly in tears ... the stab of those memories ... and how some had learned the lesson by far worse means than my leaving ... but I did not have to participate in those consequences because I had already gone, as I was called.
He wrapped his strong arm around me and pulled out his ethereal handkerchief, and then waited while I dried my tears and composed myself. He then spoke again, in very gentle voice that slowly deepened and firmed up.
"Your heart is so deeply called to love," he said, "that it was necessary for you to be called away before you could understand why, and necessary for you to go, for at times in love, we cannot know the danger we are in. But you may simply accept what is written: 'jealousy is as cruel as the grave.'"
I shuddered deeply, and was glad for his arm around me ... but then had a thought ...
"So, how did you know?" I said.
He sighed.
"You and I have in common that we spent our formative years in communities being actively destroyed by forces the adults around us could not resist. Those generations took many losses, and pinned much of their hope on the next generation. Now, there is a right way and a wrong way to do that. The right way is to admit and abhor all the evil and raise the next generation in all the good, trusting that the benefits of doing so will allow them a better life whose benefits will spread in all directions. The wrong way is to make that next generation the compensation, the next supposed path to the glory denied by others. Most communities in recovery contain a blend of families following these potential paths -- so, when a particularly gifted young person arrives, that shows how the blend looks in the community, and whether it can support that young person properly."
I sighed.
"i guess we both found out," I said.
"And we could have done none other than what we did in order to remain faithful to how we are called," he said. "It does not mean that we loved the people around us any less. It just meant that we responded appropriately to the reality. Now, you have chosen a more complex exit path than I did ... you have left all extended community hubs entirely over a decade of time, and while still present in your home community to do vital work, you have still built a parallel life that excludes it entirely. So, in essence, you have departed, but you return to minister routinely, and this is fitting. Each of us is led as we are called, and you are a minister at heart. So, you have found the right way for you."
I had to consider that for a long moment.
"Surprise," he purred gently. "I knew this in 2023 but could not tell you yet: you were being called out of every place where you could not minister, to be centered where you could. But you had to walk the path and see how utterly futile it was to remain where no ministry would bear its proper fruit temporally or eternally, so I could not say this to you openly then. It is also your human right as well as your duty to discover the truth, and not to be told everything and thus denied that right and hindered in your duty."
I wobbled from the impact of that. He was about to get even deeper, so he put both arms around me.
"Now then, from this high plane, Frau Mathews, let us reconsider the matter of earthly jealousy. Do you think people generally understand that is their responsibility to make the best use of the ministry given them instead of just passively receiving, or, worse, using it to soothe the consequences of their continuing choice of folly?"
"On the right ground, yes," I said. "On the wrong ground, no -- the thought goes straight to entitlement there. They want this and that and they deserve it and why can't they just have this and that and how dare I give to other people who already have too much and how dare I keep for myself when I already have so much more and blah, blah, blah."
"You have answered wisely, Frau Mathews. So, on the wrong ground, your even suggesting that the time to receive blessing but make no proper return is limited and that you are leaving is to no reasonable purpose, and in some cases can lead to your blood being shed to the ground. I say again that it is written: 'Jealousy is as cruel as the grave.'
"You have practiced well what to do. It is enough that you know when time is up, and move, unscathed except for a broken heart, because access to blessing is being removed from those you still love as the consequence of them loving folly more. You know where that will lead them in the end. Not for nothing did you first love me as Commendatore, who does his best to keep Don Giovanni out of the hell he will still not be dissuaded from going to.
"Yet, ironically, your absence may provide moments for some to reflect upon their actions and turn inward and upward to find what they truly need to move forward. But many will not. They will select another external idol, and keep spiraling downward. On a societal level, we see this playing out on many scales."
"Con men, cult building, and how masses of people will go from one to the next, over and over and over again, and each one worse than the last," I said.
"A journey they must take without us, Frau Mathews," he said, "for we have a journey and destinations of our own to reach."
"Oh, if only they would turn, and come!" I said, again in tears, "but what you say is true. I have no right to impose on the choices of others. I can only represent the path I am on, and its benefits, well."
"And in this, mein geliebtes Blumenkind, you might have great zeal in teaching those called to you to see and avoid the evils that would turn them from the way, and in defending them as you can -- that is what the passion is given for. You might also have great joy ... oh, great, great joy ... in their choosing to walk in the light for themselves. We return to the highest plane of the matter, thus, for in love, there is the perfection of all things."
And at last, for the first time that day, he smiled his full smile, like the sun coming in its strength from behind the clouds, and dazzling me like this Shostakovich fugue -- what a surprise!
"Natürlich, Frau Mathews," he purred as he drew me into his glowing embrace. "You know that love, and therefore joy, is our best element!"
