Truls Mork - Dvorák Cello Concerto in B minor, Op. 104 - II. Adagio
This evening is Great and Holy Thursday, it is some four months since the last time I posted an essay here in Lasseter's Lost Reef, and shortly I am off to Severance Hall to attend a concert by the Cleveland Orchestra. As you can surmise from the Google+ post below, and as you would know if you have followed Lasseter's Lost Reef Βʹ or my adventures on Twitter, I have kept up a bit elsewhere—more indeed than even remotely approximates "in good health" on Twitter—but this site has languished. I realized somewhere around those four months ago that I had ended a stage in my work here, and, in preparing an essay on it, I quickly also concluded that somehow there was failure in the endeavor. I shall complete and finish that essay, most of which I wrote in January and have not worked on since, and post it to Lasseter's Lost Reef Βʹ, and I shall also put a review up here of what I find of note thus far. Then I shall proceed with the next stage of this endeavor.
For now, I offer you this essay on a beloved work of music which I am very pleased to be attending this evening. It is, though, a sad thing for an old Orthodox boy from way back to be missing the Lenten services. In prior years, as I have been a subscriber to the Orchestra for a long time, I traded any Holy Thursday tickets for another night, but this year—indeed since my departure from the parish I once sat on the council of and represented as one of its attorneys—I have not attended services. I should hope that, if there are any Orthodox among my readers, at least some would not be so pedantic as to regard this as absolutely forbidden. I do not believe in a Churchless Christianity, and I do not find it especially spiritually nourishing to have been away, but I also … I won't say accept it, because that would sound either like approval of my state or impotency to correct it … but I do recognize to some degree how it is a part of my spiritual crisis. I am not observing any lenten discipline during this season of Great Lent, but I have been in some state of deprivation. Again, this is not said to elevate a wretched state above its wretchedness or to pretend that there is no ill in being without a church (with a lowercase 'c'). Perhaps I shall explain further in later remarks possessed of more time.
For now, I shall have, after I clean up and get myself out of here (and bid a "see you again soon" to my beloved cat), an evening of music that edifies me nonetheless in my Thursday evening, regardless of whether it is Great or Holy. As, I take it, a certain Czech song goes, I wish all alone my spirit would be allowed to dream, I wish my heart's delight not disturbed. There may well be some worthy dreams in this evening's music, moments of tranquility, however the outbursts of anguish may condemn them.