Sustain
Beeline with me to the solarium: weathered brick, hardwood. An echo chamber.
One whole room for a lonesome grand piano.
And you.
(Not musical? Immaterial. Welcome to Daydream Central.)
The lid, when raised, tilts like a raven’s wing. Ivories glow. Go on, ease onto the bench. Limber your hands. Now . . .
Pick a note, any note. And depress the sustain—that rightmost pedal‚ outlined in gold.
Sustain captures the sound of each key we touch, moving the dampers away from the strings, letting them ring and ring until the final vibration recedes into silence. With each struck note all the strings sympathetically vibrate.
Sustain blends and extends sound (and time) beyond what fingers can humanly reach in a given moment.
And sustain responds to our singular touch.
George Bernard Shaw once said, “Most people go to their grave with their music inside them.”
BUT you—yes you—are already a psalm of water that shivers with light.
“Notes all, we ring, sustained, vibrating forever.
All of everything is a symphony,
and no created thing has ever heard the fullness of it.”*
Poet/theologian Paul J. Pastor wrote those words. Creating a litany of evidence in response seems fitting.
Maestro of All, I have heard You . . .
… in the riff of a robin, the bubbling anthems of quail
… in autumn wind, and the patter of leaves
… in the faithful hum as the furnace kicks on in the dark
… in the welcoming mirth of dogs
… in my granddaughter’s version of “God Bless America” . . . dad that I love; stand beside her, in a diaper . . .
… in my father’s “Well done”; my mother’s “You’re home!”; my quiet sibling’s “I forgive you”
… in the poems of Susan Cowger
… in that hollow, answering thump of a warm, yeasty loaf
… in the predawn gargle of roosters in rural Thailand
… in the holy hush of former East Germans, after sharing aloud in a group without fear of reprisal
Dear Maestro, we listen as numberless sounds blend, sustained by grace, underscoring our lives.
The litany never ends. How will you sustain it?
Friends, will you chime in with a new line?
You might also like this from the archives: Shelf Life: First Edition
Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash
Photo by Ebuen Clemente Jr on Unsplash
*Paul J. Pastor’s book, The Face of the Deep, inspired this post. He enumerated places he has seen glimpses of God. What if we list inspiring instances of taste? Touch? Scent? Will you try your own litany?
Thank you from Daydream Central, Laurie! I love love this: “George Bernard Shaw once said, “Most people go to their grave with their music inside them.” BUT you—yes you—are already a psalm of water that shivers with light.” Thank you for this image and for your words of encouragement.
Dear April, thank you for mentioning that quote. And the subsequent image. If only we could hear ALL the music chiming and shining within and through and around us—our own notes included!
May keen ears and great blessings surround and fill and comfort you during the coming holidays, my friend and fellow writer.
Sustaining silence can also be a blessing . On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month . The beautiful sound of silence reverberated across Europe.
Who of us not having been there could begin to imagine the first sounds of silence.
Larry, thank you so much for widening the lens on “sustain” (no pun intended). I get a shiver reading your words and connecting them to what I know of history, trying to imagine myself there, trying to fathom the healing depths of that hour.
Waiting in silence for God’s response…as a pearl diver holds his breath coming up to the surface after a sustained dive. O the expectation of fresh air to fill the lungs! O the expectation of sustained waiting to hear God’s response!
Beautiful pictures Laurie
Blessings!
Denny, wow, what a vivid and marvelous image and comparison! It registers in my senses as I read it and imagine it. The kick-rise, the changing temperature as one nears the surface, the pressure building in the chest, then the final release before the inhale, the familiar world again seeming new after the deeps. Thank you for this addition to the litany, one I would never have thought of on my own.
the sound of a well tuned engine at idle
the sound of a cat purring
the sound of walking on cold snow that squeaks
These are great! I can almost hear them. The third one especially makes me smile. All three seem such a gift, yet also involve a level of human participation (and effort, too——care faithfully given to maintain the engine, the health of the pet, the health of the body through exercise), these rewarding blessings received. Thank you!
In the music of another’s soul; life …“sustained and vibrating forever.”
My heart holds such music.
Thank you Laurie.
Roberta, you’re welcome. And thank you for these breathtaking statements. Beautiful and beautifully said. You express truth I too want to keep foremost (and deep within) always. Thank you for reminding me today.
The word sustain always brings to mind Psalm 55:22, “Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you.”
So I read your offering with that in mind.
I don’t play the piano.
My wife, boys and grandchildren do.
Recently we were able to purchase something Cathy has always wanted, a (used) baby grand.
I’ve sat at it and tinkered.
Wanting to learn and play something of substance.
That ain’t gonna happen.
But wait, now it will.
A note, sustain pedal, and presence.
Mine.
Looks like I’ve found another place in the house to sit, and be still.
Casting cares.
Thank you.
Fun fact… where I live is home to the Shaw Festival (George Bernard) theatre company – Niagara on the Lake, ON, Canada. One of the largest repertory companies in North America.
Dear Rick, your words reshuffle my thoughts. Yet again. (Thank you!)
You shine a new light for me on proportions. How the small deepens into the substantive (perhaps sometimes profound?) via Time plus intent plus “A note, sustain pedal, and presence.”
A new curtain pulled back for me, on prayer . . .
ps Lucky you to live near a venue for the outworking play of genius onstage!
“How will you sustain it?” What a great question, Laurie!
God has spoken to me throughout this year about these same images–songs, symphonies, being played over us and through us and to us.
I’m pondering all the meanings of ‘sustain’ (pencilled in my Possible Poems journal….) and this will add more to the mix.
So beautiful.
What would I add? I hear God’s song through His creation, most particularly the noisy chickadees at my feeder, zooming in for breakfast.
He always reminds me of His presence through the birds…
ps I’ll have to go get Paul’s book off the shelves and re-read. He is a one of a kind poet/theologian.
Love sharing this wavelength with you. I’m already looking forward to reading the poems currently marinating within you, wondering when and where they’ll enter the world . . .
I have a little glass ornament: two song-and-dance chickadees kicking through snow. No canes or tap shoes, but a definite vaudevillian vibe. The spruce twosome fits in my palm. I just went and looked at them again. And grinned. Gonna move it back to the window, now that snow’s here again, a more prominent reminder to kick up my heels . . .
In sky. In weather…any weather. Weather— the constant companion we take for granted.
Oh, Yes! Thank you, Susan. Your words, coming from a child of the Big Sky State, doubly inspire me. I’ve never thought of weather as a companion. You’ve changed that. And I feel richer.
(Now to remember this next time I shovel the driveway…)
There’s always something to be said for the slice of a newly sharpened hand plane along the weathered edge of a plank that’s a hundred years or more ahead of you in the time of life.
John, I can almost smell the wood—that once vulnerable, now venerable, life as it opens before the blade. Am I too fanciful?
Can’t help it. I imagine craning an ear toward the stories that plank could tell. Thank you for inviting me toward reverence. Here’s to all things honed, trusted, and plied with skill and humility.
Im transported with you Laurie to that Grand piano of our God. And as I fearlessly strike my one note, I’m moved by how the Father not only sustains but had proven Himself as the sustenance of my life.
Thank you again – and with a million Swedish fish – for writing your heart!
Keep sounding that God-given note, my friend, long as you live. Though to this ear, in your case it’s ever a chord that rings out in multiple voicings.
Thank for expanding the continuum by bringing “sustenance” into the conversation.
Now I’m hungry . . .
Your posts never cease to touch my spirit, Laurie. Thank you for blessing us with your unique and delightful way with words! Now, let’s see if I can add a line, as you’ve suggested: I’ve heard glimpses of God in a baby’s chortle, the inspired harmonies of a worship song, and the rain pattering in the trees. / Some day in heaven, perhaps instead of playing The Minister’s Cat, we can play The Glimpses of God! We’ll never run out of the wonders he’s provided for our senses. That leads me to question, will we have new senses when we get there? New ways to experience God? I won’t be surprised if the answer is YES!
Nancy, fellow wordsmith and faithful friend via the web, thank you. I am leaning back in my oh-so-ergonomic chair, taking in your three glimpses, letting them play out in my imagination.
Oh, the possibility of unexplored senses awaiting us . . . A completely new idea. Thank you!
Mmmmm, this brings to mind the gorgeous imagery of Aslan singing creation into being in The Magician’s Nephew in The Chronicles of Naria.
Maestro of All, I have heard You . . .
…in the grace of the words and heart that flows through Laurie
…in a eye to eye, heart to heart smile that sings of belovedness
…in the rhythmic breathing of a friend as we share space in silence
Amber, what a gift this morning, to piggyback on your experience! I am replaying that scene in my mind . . . the elephant, specifically. 🙂 And who made the first joke? Can’t quite remember. A crow? I just might slip the book off the shelf and immerse in that chapter again. But first, thank you for fleshing out the litany/symphony with specifics: Sharing a smile, a like-minded gaze, a serene cadence of breath — these are gems I want to cherish, too.
Such a gift we embrace in our dear Laurie…
In her voice angelic
In the flow of her words
In comfort and joy
When she shares her gifts
In a moment of pause
We are reminded to gaze
The beauty surrounds us
In all of our days.
Thanks dear friend.
Lovely words and so true, Gail–thank you!
Gail, your encouragement lands with the stirring scents of surf, plumeria, mango . . . Thank you, Island Child. I feel held.