Hide-and-Seek

You're lying in the dirt under the prickly leaves of a bush in the backyard. The torrential rain is pouring down and the soft dirt is quickly turning to oozing mud. Something brushes past your arm, sending a shiver up your spine. Spider! You stifle a scream, flail frantically looking for a stick and flick it far away - or so you hope. But then there's another hanging only inches from your face. The flashlight of someone looking for you passes by every once in awhile, stinging and blinding your eyes that have adjusted to the thick blackness. A voice calls, "Where are you, child? Why are you hiding?". You don't dare answer, certain you will be rejected and condemned if the voice discovers where you've been hiding and what a mess you are. Your heart races and your whole body shakes every time you hear footsteps disturb the eerie silence. Is it the seeker or a wanted criminal? You most certainly don't want to be found, but you would rather face the stinging, blinding flashlight and hear your name called, even condemningly, than be carried off deeper into the night.

Fear takes hold and you have to act, so you crawl out from your dingy hiding place and hesitatingly present yourself to the seeker. Matted hair, skin scratched by thorns, clothes caked with mud and torn by jagged rocks. You stand there blinded by comforting light as the pain of leaving the thorny bush's cold embrace slowly eases. You're ashamed to stand there in such a deplorable state. You say, "This is where I've been hiding. It's cold, wet, dirty, painful, and frightening. I thought hiding there was a good idea, but I realize, now, it wasn't. I want to go inside now." Love says, "I'm so glad you came out. I've been waiting for you a long time. Come get warm, dry, and clean. It's safe and comfortable inside."

But then, "It won't be easy to get clean, warm, and dry," you think. "I'm such a mess. Cleaning these scratches will hurt. No, I'd better not go inside." You've forgotten how awful it was in your hiding place and all about your fear of the wanted criminal. So you turn around and scramble back under the thorny bush. Back to the mud, cold, spiders, wet, and black of night.

But... you just don't do that when you're playing hide-and-seek. You can't. Why? Because you just told the seeker where you are hiding. You can't hide anymore! Your ugly has been brought into the light. Love saw it and love also saw when you went back into hiding. And love doesn't let you hide because of your ugly without a hard fight. Love will fight for you to go inside and be made warm and dry, clean and healed, safe and comfortable.

Love runs after you to your hiding place and says, "Beloved, I know where you are. Hiding will only hurt you more. I long for you to be made whole. Please, beloved. Come out. Come inside the house with me."

You say to yourself like you did before, "If I just wait, the spiders and wanted criminal will go away. I'll become clean and dry and warm, eventually. These scratches will heal. If I leave my hiding place, I'll be hated and condemned. Yes, I'll just wait here and everything will get better, and then I'll come out and no one will ever know I was cold and dirty and wet and scared and scratched. Everything will be fine if I just stay."

It's a lie. A blatant one, really, but you can't see it for what it is. If you lie in the mud, how will you get clean? If you remain in the prickly embrace of thorns, how will your scratches heal?  If you stay outside in the cold and rain, how will you get warm and dry? If you stay outside in the dark, how will you be safe from spiders and criminals on the loose? The truth is, staying in hiding will only make you more dirty, more cold and wet, more wounded, more scared, and more endangered.

Love is waiting with outstretched arms. Love is fighting for you. Love is yearning for you. Love won't condemn you. Love won't reject you. Love will make you whole. 

You don't have to hide. Run back to love.

The Conductor

His hand guides the baton gliding through the air in steady strokes. 1-2-3, 1-2-3.  He breathes, I breathe with him.  He moves, I move with him.  It’s a dance.  Can you feel it?  We all move and breathe as one and the music flows through.  There is a connection unlike any other between people through whom music washes.  Everything you are is invested in the other musicians and in letting the music free.  How many times has a conductor said, “You must play as one person.  You must sound like one instrument.”?  I couldn’t possibly count.  Complete unison is impossible to accomplish without the connection.  The musicians speak silently, saying, “Come, let’s build the intensity – the storm is coming.  Softly, softly now – don’t wake the children sleeping.  Grieve the loss.  Rejoice in the triumph.  Climb the mountain with me.” 

And the conductor leads.  He gently guides.  He feels the music’s excitement and knows to quicken the tempo – he shows us and we follow.  The music yearns to be cherished and held until the last possible moment.  He feels it, he shows us, and we follow.

This conductor, though, is more than he seems.  The podium is only half of his station.  Yes, he is much more.  He is the composer.  The music is a song that sprang from his soul.  It is a part of him, he knows it inside out.  He knows before it swells like the waves and when it will ease to a gentle lapping along the shore.  Nothing about it surprises him.  He needs no score to conduct.  Surely the definitive black marks on the page would only inhibit the music, hold it back from its full potential.  How could the techniques and dynamics denoted express all that the music is?  One can play a piece perfectly, obeying the command of every masterfully placed accent and tempo marking, but if the ink on the page is all you see, the music is dead.  It cannot live and flow freely.  No one can conduct the music like the one who first set it free.

Because the music belongs to him, the musicians follow without question.  He may decide to slow unexpectedly or repeat a section played before while the audience listens intently, held in rapt attention.  When he directs an unexpected change, it doesn’t always make sense.  Sometimes, the musicians don’t understand why.  But they know that he is their leader, the music is his, and he knows what he is doing.  And so, when the musicians understand that their conductor is also the composer, they trust and they follow, and the music flows through. 

This is the key.  The musicians must know their conductor.  They have to learn how he conducts.  What is that wave of his hand?  What does it mean when his right eyebrow arches slightly?  As we learn, we make mistakes.  He moves his hand and it looks to us like a cutoff so we arrest the movement, but he was only asking the violas to play out a little more.  When we make music together, I can’t bury my head in the written music.  How will I know what the conductor is doing?  What if he signals a cutoff, repeat, decrescendo, accelerando?  How will I know?  I can only ascertain his movements, then, from the sound of the orchestra.  And if he directs a cutoff and I’m not watching, I’ll certainly hear it, but it will be too late for me to stop with all the rest. 

As I play, I see him always before me.  I can trace the path of his gliding baton.  Often, that is enough to get by.  The music will survive.  But, when a difficult passage comes along, it’s easy to lose sight of the conductor – to stare fixedly at the notes that may easily cause you to stumble.  Then what?  You have shut out the only person truly able to guide you through it, to let the music continue to flow. 

Sometimes, a musician becomes filled with pride.  They croon within, “I’m the one who really knows how the music goes.  I don’t need a conductor, I can set it free on my own.”  What then?  That pride causes discord as its intents collide with the music in its purest form.  It clouds and confuses the song of the composer’s heart, and the beauty of the dance, following the lead, is lost.

Simply being aware of his movement out of the corner of one’s eye is often sufficient to keep the music alive, but surely we desire the music to thrive.  When a transition comes, peripheral vision does not suffice.  At that time, the musicians must fix their eyes on the conductor and drink in every movement.  Can they see the nod of his head, the expression on his face, out of the corner of their eyes?  Certainly not.  Music is played most beautifully when the musicians have practiced well with their conductor.  They know the movement of the music and are able to watch their conductor through every phrase.  Can you feel his heartbeat if you are too caught up in the notes in front of you to hold him in your gaze?  If the music is the song of his heart, how can you set it free without his guidance?  The musicians who spend time with their conductor build a deep relationship with him and the musicians know their conductor will lead them through the music, and even the most difficult parts will be made beautiful.  They trust him because he is the composer, also, and he knows what is done, what is being brought into being, and what is to come.  The reward of knowing and following the conductor is the beauty of the music set free together.  And… every now and then when your gaze is fixed on him, his eyes meet yours and nothing in the world can compare to the joy and affirmation in his eyes when you have followed well.