Messages From Carrie
That’s Why I’m Here: Art Faith and The Common WoodThrush
May 10th, 2008
There is a pair of wood thrush nesting near my home. The wood thrush is a cousin to the American robin. The robin is the snappy dresser of the family, with its more easily identifiable dark head and alluring red breast. The dapper robin hops in our spring lawns, sure of its beloved position as the returning harbinger of spring, tossing out its sing-song taunt “DONT cha wish that YOU could be a ROBin just like ME, oh YEAH! - DONT cha wish that YOU could be a ROBin just like ME. oh YEAH!” If the robin wears Bloomingdales, than the wood thrush wears Talbot’s, clothing itself in classic good taste and breeding, mostly in sensible shades of brown, and although it never draws inappropriate attention to itself, it looks sleek and confident, always a perfect compliment to the greens, golds and deep reds of it’s environment. But what the wood thrush lacks in flash, it makes up for in sound, for cascading forth out of those light bones and brown feathers spills an achingly beautiful song, having the character and quality a chime and a flute and yet sounding like neither one. When I hear the song of the wood thrush at the close of the day it is like hearing a haunting Irish melody that’s makes you smile and breaks your heart in one ascending and descending passage.
I am humbled by the power of that simple song to move me. I am certain that if I could just once create a combination of notes that moved my heart like the evensong of the wood thrush then I could lay down my guitar and close my notebook and say, “There is no more to be said or done, Amen.”
But I am not a wood thrush, and I am not robin. I am woman who is in love with melody, language and story, moved by the natural world, drawn to unanswerable questions, captivated by the human capacity for good, and humbled by the fact that most humans, including myself, occasionally fall short of that noble capacity. And yet, knowing that I most likely never create a song as grand as what spills out of the humble wood thrush so naturally and without practice or calculation, I open my notebook, I pick up my guitar, and attempt again to give voice to the ache and awe that is at the center of the human experience. I can do no less, it is in my nature as surely as the wood thrush was born to wear shades of brown and sing at the start and end of the day, born to sing . . . wait. . . listen . . . and sing again.
It’s been hard for so many of us to remain hopeful and continue to work for positive change when we see so much waste and so much sorrow in this world. I have to believe that part of what we contribute as artists and people created of Spirit is to encourage a continued and thoughtful conversation, articulate the depths of suffering and describe the shape of hope, give language to our fears, and in doing so create connections. We are called to speak the truth simply, eloquently and with a compassionate eye for poignancy and humor, placing a mirror before us, showing where the important and sometimes humbling work must be done, and yet all the while affirming the best of what we are and can be, giving form and language to something we experience that has no words. Everyone of us is called speak the truth as clearly and authentically as we know how. The truth always opens a way, it shimmers in the air, it shifts the balance and alters outcomes.
We are all like the little creeks and streams that contribute eventually to the largest swells in the ocean. What we do could be considered nothing and yet it is everything. Our works in this world are no more than the shifting sand beneath the water. It would seem what we do is of no importance, and yet it is the most important thing the world that we do it. We are being called to remember who we are, remember that we do not grieve alone but that shared suffering has always made us family, remember how to hope, remember how to laugh, and even in the darkest night remember the feel of the sunlight on our faces, remember the longing at the center of the human heart, and remember to listen and take notice of what has always and continues to call us to health and wholeness.
So what does all of this have to do with political seasons, promises made and promises broken? What does all of this have to do with war and peace, violence and a third way? What does this have to do with art and music? These things connect because the best art and music is always about telling the truth. It is always about taking risks and describing what we care about most deeply. It is about holding up a mirror to what is, and longing for the best of what might be. And so not to convince, and not to convert, I simply speak the truth as well as I know hoe, open about my concerns for the world, the specifics of our shame, and the hope for a leadership that refrains from falling into policies based on fear and understands the danger and folly of politics as usual, bringing a new possibility for the future. I believe that we cannot just legislate change. Long lasting and real change happens when there is a change of heart, when we think beyond our own comfort and our own fears and embrace something better.
So like the wood thrush I follow my nature, I stand as bravely and humbly as I can at the opening and close of the day . . . sing . . .wait . . .listen . . . tell the truth. . .and sing again.