I won’t send you my “best wishes for a Happy New Year” but my best wishes, especially for your happiness, for every new year to come, for as long as life.
God bless us all.
That was the Choir Conductor’s e mail to his friend who had aided him during his recent Choir Concert in his church.
The Choir Conductor’s Thoughts After A Reading On Hell
I had read the thoughts of an ancient, very famous poet in a mentor classic, in beautiful verse “The immortal drama of a journey through hell” something like that was said. It was so praised by famous, learned people, translated into so many languages. I only succeeded to read half way, as it was a scare, - even worse than a sermon threatening the listeners with hell - of the nine circles of hell, of sinners, of the damned, of the great poets of all time, Homer, Ovid, Horace, Lucan, Virgil, including himself, of “the blest and beauteous shining of the Heavenly cars, ...”
I can’t imagine a God so pitiful, so weak that He could ever be offended, blasphemed by His creatures and take measures for the insult, wrong doing by punishing them in such a torturous way. A God so partial who would take sides, welcome the chosen and reject the damned.
As I think of human dignity, who could pride himself to be a better man than another? How degrading, to praise one and humiliate the other, more so for a God. I imagine God far greater, far more generous, impartial, no words ever could grasp, rather than a God so humanlike as depicted that way.
And I thought of the wonderful songs, thoughts so heartening and so hitting the mark as “Bliss”*, “I Believe**” and for days am I in a happy, cheerful mood. I would rather sing those songs than recite the credo of the church: “I believe in God the Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost …”
To watch the wonderful flight of dragonflies in the air, so light, so fast “jumping, diving” catching small insects, of the pigeon’s solo flight with powerful wing-strokes skiing, soaring high up in the sky, of the flutter of two, tree butterflies chasing after one another in the wind, see the leaves of the flamboyant as snowflakes falling, see fallen flowers on the grass as a milk white 4-petal tea tray of the barringtonia asiatica, see angsana blossoms as a yellow carpet on the ground, watch the little honey bees, flitting hovering, perching, visiting flowers, … while leisurely sitting with my wandering thoughts. I could endlessly write about paradise that’s around me.
I remember a Chinese painter said about painting beauty with the least possible strokes or with the most possible strokes and I thought of beauty just composed as a simple song or beauty as rich as composed as a symphony or find a paradise in a short story and I think of O Henry and Andersen or in a novel.
Why keep myself occupied, busy with hell, as I listen to Elly Ameling singing Schubert, Brahms, Schumann, … songs. I remember some one saying “See heaven in a wild flower” or remember the wonderful thought: “One Earth, One Sky, One Humankind” or have my picnic on the bank of a lake, a river or on the side of a brook, … What delight!
But I might judge him wrong. Perhaps am I a bad church choir master to have such unreligious, disrespectful ideas.
Thus he disclosed his thoughts to me.
Bliss* (Seligkeit)
Joy and peace and love reign in heaven above; Angels praise God’s glory, such the ancient story. Would that I were there such sweet bliss to share! … I would rather stay here, with thee says May, Sit here at thy side, love, as thy bonnie bride, love! And with one sweet kiss seal our heavenly bliss!
I Believe**
I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows. I believe that some where in the darkest night, a candle glows. I believe for every one who goes astray, some one will come to show the way. I believe above the storm the smallest prayer will still be heard. I believe that some one in the great some where hears every word. Every time I hear a new born baby cry, or touch a leaf, or see the sky, then I know why I believe!
“I’m sorry, I can’t come singing this time. My leg awfully hurts.” Ade telephoned her choir master just an hour before the Christmas Eve service began. He was downhearted. She was his “locomotive” in his choir. Now they would sing without her, - try, make the best he can with the others.
Then during the warm up he was so happily surprised to see Ade hobbling coming in. “Thanks God” he said inwardly.
After the service the choir master said to her: “Thank you, We sang very well. That was your Christmas gift for me and us, I never would forget” as he imagined her pain climbing down the stairs and walking to the church with a hurting leg.
What about having an International Kite Festival in the Evening/Night. The kites scotch-lighted, (light shining on the kites). Wouldn’t it be a very delightful, enchanting, spectacular show?
To the attention of Mrs Endang W. Puspoyo (founder of the Kite Museum Of Indonesia) and flying kite lovers.
Faisal and Setiawan, still school boys, were arrested for just stealing chocolate, deodorant at the time of social unrest. Better take it home than burned or destroyed. It would be too bad if you’re not allowed to take home you on purpose would destroy the goods and burn the store as many did. Perhaps so they thought,
Why take them to court while it could be easily pacified among those concerned?
I remember the house which was build of bread, chocolate, sweets in a fairy tale. There is no child who would ever wish to destroy, burn it. It’s better to eat them. Suppose the store, supermarket which they destroyed, burned, was not build of cakes, sweets, … but had gold coins pasted on the floors, the doors consisted of Rp. 100 thousand banknotes, their walls of Rp. 50 thousand banknotes and banknotes to the value of all the commodities in the store. If all the money would amount to the same value of that supermarket including all the goods, I think they would never ruin it, were it (in) money. They never realized it was that much.
For weeks the boys were detained in jail.
“Well, the verdict was two month in prison because of stealing such a trifle worth only Rp. 7.900.-“ Upik said, “calculated, how many hundreds, even thousand years in jail should be the sentence of those who stole, destroyed, burned to a value of billion rupiahs, harmed, even caused death and laborers without work. Many thousands of them were not arrested.”
Meanwhile owners silently wept, wept for their loss of goods, motors, cars, shops, homes, … that had been destroyed or burned, - the fruits of working, building for years with sweat and tears - for their family members that had died without any wrong-doing. As in a war, whom should they ask for justice?
There was a bouquet with lovely “Golden Sowers” beside a garbage bin at the road side for any one to take it home.
How hard is it, to have the courage to pick those thrown away lovely flowers, walk home and place them in a place of honor, to say nothing of caring, picking up “fallen” flowers. Are they different from “decent” flowers?
When we were eating in the open air eating place in Pecenongan, a middle classed housewife, decently dressed was selling shrimp crackers from table to table. All the guests coldly, indifferently, proudly refused. Disappointed, downhearted, she suppressed her feelings as she had to “climb down so deep” to become a vendor selling crackers and she went away.
My wife waved her back as she remembered a similar treatment when people refused to buy her self baked snacks at that time, to save, support us, her family who were living in a hard time. She bought two parcels of shrimp crackers. But for the woman who was in straitened circumstances (remember, there’s no middle classed housewife ever wants to humble herself selling shrimp crackers as a vendor), it was a lot, it was so sweet, so encouraging, so heartening, it was like a heavenly gift though she only succeeded to earn Rp. 2.000.-.
Only those who are visited by hardships, know the blessings, of happiness, of gratitude for small things, a little kindness. A happy beam lit up her face and we went home with a sweet memory of her.
When life is on the dark side, then there certainly is a sunny side on the other side but not seen as on the two sides of a leaf in the sun.
There, on the Ancol bridge I saw the glorious rising sun through a gateway of trees stately sailing on a mirrored waterway.
There was the Kembang Soka in full bloom. What an expression of joy and gratitude. There was a branch broken, yet, it was still blowing. No one noticed it, only a butterfly and me. And there were such a lot of flowers and a lot were dropping, falling. Only some flowers were visited, yet she didn’t stop flowering and asks nothing in return. She only could give, grant her riches.
I hear a happy, carefree, girlish laughter, my little girl frightens me in jest, in play and leans affectionately against me. I hear the cheerful “good morning” greeting of Tien, I feel the cool wind, I hear the birds warble, I see the flowers open, I see, I hear, I feel, I smell; unconscious, never cared before.
I have a faint longing after a home when the sun is setting, for a light in the distance. How peaceful is the night with the moon and stars watching over me.
A better world opens. I feel my inner dawn is breaking.
For man life is short as just ten years or a thousand years. Life is so precious and death is such a scare. Do you ever want to die willingly in the place of your child, grandchild, your father, mother, wife, husband, grandfather, grandmother, brother, sister, … to say nothing of another? Except, when life were hell, then death must be heaven!
I just read poems in our foremost Jakarta’s news paper, reread this many times but it was as though I was reading Einstein’s theory of relativity.
“Am I so blind, so stupid of not being able to read, grasp the meaning, beauty of the poems or is it … ? Well, don’t be so nasty, to think so bad of others.” I said to myself.
And I mused, “Should poems be clothed in vague words, as a riddle to be beautiful? A beautiful thought would still remain the same when conveyed written, spoken, sung in plain common language, or just written on a piece of paper or in a book or a respectable newspaper.“
And I thought of the immense lot of beautiful songs of Schubert, Schumann, Mozart, Brahms, Wolf, Bach, Beethoven, Gershwin, Hammerstein, Vaughn …, with poems as their lyrics of Goethe, Schiller, Brentano, Heine, Muller, Whitman, … which I enjoyed, so well-known and loved through out the world. They are certainly not lesser poets than the author of those poems and it was not so very difficult to understand them Why be downhearted? Shouldn’t you be feeling proud of it?
“There she warbles, the Kacer and frantically she flies against the bars of the little cage to vent her pent up joy where she should stay, live for as long as life without lament or complaint. She had never known the joys, happiness of being free. How sad, how pitiful” said pak Arif.
“Of not just flying against the bars but delightfully flying so free in the sky.
“Of not perching day and night on a stick in the cage but to enjoy itself in trees, to play, to frolic, to warble, to rest, to see the sun, ...
“And rapturous find its mate, to build their nest, to lay eggs and patiently hatch them and raise the baby chicks with love.
“Sure, it’s but a bird, a creature, but a being so alike a human being,” said he.
