My Heroes Have Gotten Bigger

There was a time when music meant much more to me than it does today. No, that's not exactly right. . .let me try that again. There was a time when expressing myself through songwriting meant a lot more to me than it does today. That's closer. . .but still isn't quite right. In fact, I don't think I can express this in a single sentence. It's going to take an entire blog entry:

There was a time when I admired poets and artists greatly and wanted to emulate them in some way. There was something about the way they observed life and boiled it down into a few words, a few notes, a few brush strokes, that appealed to me. Since I had a facility with words, and to a lesser degree music, songwriting became my creative outlet. Over time, it became the principal way for me to open my heart and relieve the pressure that builds up there when life overwhelms me. . .either with its beauty or ugliness. It has served a useful purpose in my life for which I am grateful, but I find I am not as drawn to this as I was in the past. To put it simply, I find that I don't need to write. There is nothing boiling up in me that needs to come out that way. So, who's the culprit? Who or what has killed my muse?

After struggling with this for a while, I have to say it is the Orthodox way of life. It is the daily services, the morning and evening prayers, the cycle of feasts and fasts, the sacraments of Holy Communion, marriage, confession, baptism - both mine and the baptisms of my godchildren - the pilgrimages to monasteries, the living in community with other Orthodox believers, the reading of the lives of saints. . .to name a few elements of a traditional Orthodox life. I still love music, but nothing has surpassed my experience of standing in a monastery at 3am listening to brightly sorrowful Byzantine chant pouring from the hearts of virgins who have abandoned everything this world has to offer in order to get a little closer to God. It has given me a hint of what the Seraphim and Cherubim sound like encircling the throne of God. I sill love the intricacies of language, but nothing has surpassed the enormous tapestry of poetry that comprise the daily cycle of services in the Orthodox Church. I have been seduced. I have been overcome. My pen has dropped from my hand, and I stand with my mouth gaping at the beauty I see. My heroes have gotten bigger.