Enrichment for the Soul
Comes in many forms.
A few weeks ago I spent a short amount of time with a friend; we were best friends at school, inseparable, we shared our formative years and went through trauma together, more than once. Our bond is unbreakable. Now she lives on the other side of the world and uneasily I see how our lives diverged, admitting that we have become very different people, inevitably shaped by those around us and our experiences. We still share deep love for each other but with the passage of time I feel more detached from her life and her from mine. It’s bitter sweet.
There is no doubt that she has enriched my life and as I sit in the garden watching the birds busying themselves, all with their own goals and personalities, it makes me think of how our relationships can be similar; with people flitting in and out of our lives.
The first time I remember hearing The Lark Ascending was when I was ten years old in the classroom of my rural country primary school in Lisnagunogue (I won our spelling test one week with that one!). Our Headmaster and P7 teacher was eccentric, unpredictable and fiery; he could be scary one day and fun the next. Amongst other things he loved classical music and would encourage contemplation under complete silence while we listened with our heads down on the desks to Vivaldi, Brahms or, in this case, Vaughan Williams.
I knew very well the display flight of the Skylark, having watched them rise up and up and up above the cliffs at the Giant’s Causeway in the back garden of my family home. When the music first came on I was transported to that warm heathy grass, lying on my back, squinting up at Spring blue skies watching this magnificent little bird. The music perfectly captured and celebrated the dance of this spectacle, and it moved me; it was transportive, beautiful.
Though I heard the music a few times again over the years it wasn’t until 2022 when it had a similar affect on me; a time-slowing-down grounding moment at the funeral of our friend Myra. Myra was an inspirational woman; she worked hard throughout her life and following the early death of her husband she returned to university at the age of 59 and graduated with a BA Honours in English and an MA in Anglo-Irish Literature. Then as a postgraduate she went to Dublin and studied for a Diploma at the Irish School of Ecumenics, Trinity College Dublin. She has four published works of poetry.
We first knew Myra as a customer, she’d walk the steep hill to our little shop in Castle Street where she’d have her coffee and cake by the window. Back then we got to know all our customers and Myra became one of our most beloved; always chic, intelligent and with a kind, calm and gentle way she’d tell us about her week or we’d talk about current affairs, she was brightness in our world. When Covid came we knew Myra would be safe in the retirement accommodation she had in town but we were devastated for her that her family, who lived away, would be unable to visit. We checked by phone and called weekly to drop bread and her favourite cake over the next couple of years, always getting a chat at the door or through the window. The first lockdown Christmas I brought her a plate of festive dinner, mince pies and champagne; we clinked our glasses of fizz through the window and we wished each other a Happy Christmas.
Whilst I don’t feel drawn to any faith I still harbour the visions of a higher place, likely subconsciously seeped into my psyche by the Christian values of my locale. I often think of the souls of those who have passed away as being in the ether; they are here and yet they’re not, floating around us, ascended, with us if we need them, watching over us. That is a comfort, whether you believe it or not and I feel it helps with the great detachment of death, it becomes a cushion for our grief.
I felt somehow emotionally unequipped to deal with such powerful music at her death; it was all at once celebratory, dazzlingly joyous yet sorrowful and poignant. I thought of her rising up to the limitless sky above; her soul free. Myra had lived her life, she was content with leaving our world and the music reflected that, I thought of all the beauty she had seen and experienced in her 94 years. The music was perfect and a smiled at her deep wisdom, of course she knew that this would be the case.
Grief
The child lives in soul-
Sifting sand through his fingers
He cradles the sun in his hand-
Knowing all there is to know.
The man walks against the sun-
Crippled by blindness-he raises darkened glass-
Afraid of the undergrowth-afraid of the stone-
Afraid of the fall.
Myra Vennard
Shall I somehow relate this back to food? Well I can try! Just as people enrich our lives so does food and the produce available to us throughout the year flits in and out depending on the season. Take comfort in the beauty of the ingredients naturally and locally available; appreciate it when it’s here, long for it when it’s not. Learn to live with the presence and absence.
listened to the Lark Ascending as I read, so beautiful in combination with your lovely words 💕
‘Learn to live with the presence and the absence’ - such a beautiful, true line. Myra sounds like a wonderful woman, I loved reading about her. This piece is gorgeous. I really relate to the changing nature of friendships and love that your teacher played music like that for you. How stunning. Xx