Photos by the author, Deeann D. Mathews, August 25, 29, 30, and Sept. 2, 2024
September is still officially two-thirds summer, and in San Francisco, summer weather generally begins in mid-to-late August and lingers into mid-to-late October ... however, the reality that the seasons are changing has put forth its heralds.
The beginning of harvest time -- Herbst in German is the word for autumn -- in the Northern Hemisphere is near as well ... the year's labors in Creation must yield their long-ripening fruits. But summer is summer until the end. The change is coming, but not just yet.
There have been heralds of change that have surprised me, though I have seen signs for more than a year ... I have been out here "blumenkinding" in these summer days ...
... and as I was walking home on a recent afternoon, I was surprised to meet a neighbor also out ... an adorable middle-aged cherub of a man cast in marble, baby-faced and silver-haired, sweet smile and cheeks, a paintbrush, and a canvas ... he was painting blessing cards but looked at me like I had walked off his canvas ... they were not dry yet and not fully visible to me, but he said I might have my choice of the three, and without looking I picked the first... and he glowed ... for indeed, he had just painted me in essence moments before meeting me ... and, @mipiano, speaking of being in community and on the same wavelength, you will see that me and my new neighbor, on the day you showed your blessing rock, are both on the same palette with you ...
"Heart-Full" ... that is what pierced me to the heart ... how had he known all about me, though we had never met, and how had I picked the first card, down to the headband color?
This is the second time in a month ... on the other end of the block, I had stepped out of the house and had been greeted with good morning in the middle of the afternoon ... a short, trim, active fellow with a look that I also like was standing dazzled like the sun had risen in his eyes ... I know I'm "blumenkinding" but I didn't know it was hitting that hard ... I graciously said to him, "Well, sir, it is morning somewhere ... you have a good day, sir." But he is a property manager at the end of the block ... and his eye caught mine again this week as I was doing a bit around my home some days later before going into my home.
The seasons are changing around me, for certain, on both ends of the block, but on the day the good steward of the end of my block was so dazzled, there was another man, a fellow survivor of the gentrification that my neighborhood had been through ... but he had not survived as well as I had. He, seeing me, instantly crossed the street if he had been catapulted by force out of the way so that the man behind him could see the sunrise. He could not get his mouth open before he was removing himself from my presence -- he was muttering, but he got out of my earshot so quickly I cannot say more than he was definitely not happy.
This is new.
So, I thought back to last week ... the contrast between the conversation and the life of the full-hearted and generous and purposeful as compared with that of those who have lost the privilege of access because they have chosen not to walk in a manner that allows it ...
Then I thought of an ancient saying: "To him that has, more shall be given, but to him that has not, even what he has shall be taken away." This is remembered in jazz ... Lady Day, also known as Billie Holiday, told us all about it ...
... but in terms of material things and money, and with good reason, for it seems that the poor are discriminated against such that most can never get up from their position in the world. But on a deeper level, Lady Day spoke of being surrounded by those who never love anything but what they can get from someone else ... money has lots of friends, but people don't. This must have been what the Grinch was counting on in Dr. Seuss's world of imagination: he thought he could stop the song of the villagers, and their love for each other, if he took their Christmas gifts ... he did not understand life built on love yet.
For there must be something deeper here ... how does a man see and paint his neighbor in essence before he sees her, and how does she choose the painting that shows her that he has seen her before seeing her? How did the canvas become a portal? How does a man going about his business caring for another's property in the afternoon walk out in time to have another man pushed by an invisible hand out of his way so he can see the sunrise in the afternoon?
None of the above are questions of money. They may, however, be cases of people maturing enough to be doing what they are called to be doing in a place in their lives when they are no longer about to be fished out on some foolishness. Both my neighbors were out determining to be a blessing ... and that also is my daily intent ... and thus we met.
Such beautiful days and beautiful contentment ... instead of the grimmer "Wie Ulfru Fischt," Schubert tells a similar story in a brighter way in "Fischerweise," the "Fisher's Way," in which a fisherman happily does what he is called to do in life, and refuses to be lured from it by a beautiful shepherdess who all of the sudden decides to take up fishing too -- "but you won't catch THIS FISH!" Young bass Alex Rosen sings this well ...
But that still leaves the man who rocketed from the scene ... Why? ... What happened? ... and then I realized ... there is nothing for me to figure out, because I simply was not chosen to know. The possibility of the knowledge was removed in mere seconds. As an empath who has been working in my local community to understand and relieve the suffering of others for 27 years of a 43-year life (read: since before I was even an adult), this was a shock to me. It is not just that I may have been protected from any physical harm he might have done -- his resentment of my existence was clear -- but he was not even permitted to speak, or be heard!
I see now why in Q-Inspired a certain august spectral personage has been saying, "I'm not a part of your security detail, Frau Mathews -- that is handled above me." Indeed!
However, we do have this quote here from him in English:
There is no bridge, Frau Mathews. There is no bridge.
And, in the days of his earthly career, he did explain this in Schubert's "Irrlicht," for the last two lines of it that he sang so poignantly came back to mind. They more or less come into English as "Every river will win its sea; every sorrow also finds its grave."
In German, the fact that the river wins is made impossible to miss by the word gewinnen ... you can make of that word, of course, "gets to," "reaches," and more in modern speech, but I rather think the poet, Wilhelm Müller, knew precisely what he was talking about, because there is a vast difference between a sea and a grave (provided one does not die at sea, of course) ... the rivers reaching the sea are part of the water cycle that sustains all life. A grave is for the dead. If the rivers and the seas and the oceans had knowledge, they would know of the things of the grave, but that would be just one of many things known, and many others would be of higher priority. The grave's entire concern, if it had knowledge, would be the dead. The set of the latter's knowledge fits as a small piece into but can never be centered in the set of the formers' knowledge.
The issue there would be if the grave, all about death, demanded to be centered, with only its one set of knowledge to use to enforce its demand in the middle of all the concerns of life that the waters encompass. How much damage could be done to the systems of life, in a conflict like that?
To bring this back down to that incident: if the offense the man felt about me was me being simply alive, free, beautiful, and inaccessible to him, although we are the same race and have the same local history, but I am still not available to center him or do anything for him in his misery that I do not share -- if that was the problem, what could he bring to me but harm to pull me down from there? He was not permitted. For that I thank God.
Later in the week, I again encountered a former friend in a social media space... but she was late, and I stayed quiet and observed without disclosing my presence ... and understood, in full, why she also had to be removed from my life. Then another one came in ... and those two hate each other much more than I realized when both were trying to impress me. But, my second former friend was even later ... she did not see me or the one she hates ... and I recognized, yet again, that all I need to do is thank God that after the summer of 2023, *He did not permit my life to include these two women who have been maliciously competing for being centered in their pride, inadequacy, fear, doubt, and disbelief.
And then there was a THIRD ... he saw me so I greeted him. He would not even return the greeting. Had there been a bridge left, I would have considered it burned, right there. If a person chooses to be beneath my cordiality, so be it.
Much further back than all of this, the same One Who said, "To him that hath more shall be given ... ." also said this:
Follow ME. Let the dead bury their dead.
The necessity and the blessing of the humble obedience I have been led to give ... the surrender and submission even through the intense pain it brought to me ... all I can do is give thanks, for as the harvest comes of all I have done since, it will come in peace!
But what would I not have given to have four of the five come also to abundant peace ... but I could not take them where they are not fit to go, nor cause them to sit at tables they are not fit to sit at, nor feed them even crumbs that are too rich for them! There is no bridge! I have had my lessons just in time!
Still, four in two weeks, and three in this week ... and at the same time also, I was present at a great matter of decision that will liberate much more in terms of resources into community hands ... my role is humble, but I was there ... ten years of labor, and the harvest is coming in, in peace!
I wrote of it by way of analogy last week, not knowing it would be my lot this week ... the emotional whiplash of the heights of gratitude and joy so close to the anguish of grief of watching people I love exclude prove that they needed to be excluded from the harvest of my labors ... I had to go deep into my ancestral music in the gospel music period to find strength to keep going because of the intensity of the blow ... Ms. Mahalia Jackson had to come remind me how I had and how I was going to walk on...
... and my soul cried out for Buena Vista Hill, where I had found refuge in the deepest pain of the summer of 2023 ... to which highest heights I had climbed fleeing the pit of despair in the autumn. I was not vindicated by being right about why I had to leave certain people. I was devastated.
But then I also realized ... the questions of "How? How can they be WORSE? Why? What happened?" ... I was being given a glorious opportunity to surrender them, to put them down ... what I had done out of necessity last year, under duress, could be done from a position of peace and strength this year ... I was simply not called to understand, or take the weight of all that upon me any more ... yes, there was the anniversary stress element ... September was when it had gone to pieces for good last year ... but past that ... me even being presented with what I had turned over was just an opportunity to LEAVE IT WHERE I HAD PUT IT. That was the second half of the challenge! My church's men's choir was not available today, but the Five Blind Boys of Alabama were!
I decided to walk in accord with the wisdom I knew ... and a strange feeling came over me ... I could not describe it in words, but at sunset ... an end ... the thick grayness nearly to the top of Sutro Tower, the rosy beauty of higher clouds over my home, and the freedom of our neighborhood flock of pigeons, enjoying the evening...
... that picture says what I did not have the words in English or German to say.
The next day, when I rose in the morning ...
... I had no doubt at all about how I had been led to put down what was not for me, and as I prepared to head out for my day, the thought recurred to me: it was not a location change that I needed, just as 43-year-old me had to settle with 16-year-old me that Germany needed not be in my future for a move ... within my calling, and with me walking in peace, I have joy anywhere I am.
So although I am not physically ready to walk up to any significant portion of Buena Vista Park, my workday took me close enough to the northern side of Alamo Square ...
... so I was contented to walk the hill that I could, and the bounty of its ripening fruit greeted me ...
... and although I was not as far from the noise of the city as I would have preferred, there were still some glorious scenes...
... and although I would have been glad to stay longer ...
... it was more than enough to pass through there on my way to my destination in the city...
... and I left all the sadness and heaviness of the previous day behind me, the exertion of my longest trek since Covid also being helpful ... that was as high and as far as I could have walked, so it was good.
At length there came time to relax ... on Labor Day in the U.S, which was Monday, Sept. 2, I then resorted again to Alamo Square. That was a wonderful day to remember the lessons of "Selige Welt" and "Sommertage" with "Wie Ulfru Fischt" and "Fischerweise" coming before that ... of living in the world, but not of it, protected, blessed twice ... gesegnet ... blessed by decree and calling from One greater ... and selig ... blessed to blissful because able, at last, to surrender to all the joys that were mine and also to surrender -- to give up -- all that would be a burden because it simply was not mine to bring into this protected place.
It was time for me to remember that I was called to rest in love. I could be angry with myself for nearly forgetting so soon ... as I had been told many times, I was focused on and well-practiced in loving. So I could never be more hurt and frustrated when I could not love enough to help those I loved, because they wanted something else besides love to satisfy them. But so many of my lessons had been to help me understand the side of being loved, and thus, being able to rest in that. It was time for me to again choose what was mine, and learn my lessons.
Again, the sun kissed me, and the gentle wind, with two weeks left to blow through summer, was not worried that soon it would carry autumn leaves by my window ... and at last, the waves of relief and gratitude began to hit me, separate from the day of my deep sorrow.
After that, thus relieved, I went to pick berries from the hill's bounty ... they are buffaloberries, also called soapberries because they can be beaten to a froth ... but it is hard to get them home because if you can get them at just the right time, they are honey-sweet and hard to stop eating ... but just ripe they are delicate ... nonetheless I soon had a honey-sweet handful of beautiful, perfectly ripe berries...
... because as he had sung in the winter and early spring to coax a few shy trees into bloom, the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past softly stepped up next to me, positioned his handkerchief, and sang to the ripe buffaloberries that last line of Beethoven's beautiful "Elegy Song," which I will transliterate gently into English:
"As you have lived your life, you have full-ended."
Every perfectly ripe berry there obeyed that gentle nudge, and thus we had our snacks for the walk!
"Ich danke dir," I said.
"Gern geschehen," he said with a radiant smile as he presented the berries to me to eat by the handful as we started out around the hill. "My pleasure, Frau Mathews."
Now he looked very calm, but he was missing 55-60 again to the youthful side, and he was already glowing ... he was already very happy.
"Ich habe meine Lektionen gelernt, mein Lehrer," I said, and he laughed merrily.
"Ich weiss -- mein Herz jubelt für dich, Frau Mathews."
We were in a little crowd then, for Alamo Square is famous for the view on its southeast corner, and we were walking opposite the traffic, to the northeast ... a few looked twice at us because we were so radiant in the summer sun, but two low, deep voices in German are generally not going to be eavesdropped on, and when he decided to make space and spread himself -- he was again getting the most of his Blue Eternity hiking suit and midnight-black hiking poles -- the crowd parted.
At last to a quiet place to sit under the shade of a great cypress tree ...
... and as the wind was getting up a little, he seated himself to the west of me and thus made me very comfortable.
"My heart rejoices for you, Frau Mathews, for you have done and applied your own review of lessons near and far in time ... you chose to continue to walk, abide, and adorn yourself in your calling, and you chose to rest in the blessedness to which you are called and surrender all else. You have no need that we should go over that again -- Happy Labor Day to you, and I am delighted that you have ceased from those labors that are not for you to do."
"But, Corollary A -- you thought of Winterreise again, those two lines in 'Irrlicht' that every river reaches its sea and every sorrow finds its grave. Tell me this: which of those two destinations is the character in Winterreise more likely to reach?"
"The second," I said.
"So then, think back to 'Gute Nacht,' the very first song ... you observed something about my singing of it that is unique in your experience."
"Yours is just about the only interpretation that indicates the danger of the situation with the character having been rejected," I said. "You use your huge voice to indicate, over time, that the character is working himself up, and his anger is considerable."
"So then, given that he has indeed gotten himself so worked up that he is charging God Himself with inconstancy -- we shall concede that is a dangerous state of mind -- who tells him to leave the house?"
"No one. He does it on his own accord, and we assume it is because he does love her, and wishes her no harm."
"We assume that, and we can also assume that in the many times afterward that he indicates he wishes to go back," he said. "That is because we look at it from the same level of him in human experience. But, in fact the poet, being the author of the story, has arranged it so that he must leave and not go back."
The light came on in my mind.
"Why did that man in the street who resented you so have to leave before he could visit even a clear word of that upon you? There is no answer but this, Frau Mathews: the Author of your story arranged it so he had to leave, and not come back. Think that all the way out in line with what has been happening to you for two years ... how you have been removed and how people have been removed from you, so that you might come to the place in your life in which you are now. The Blessed Hand, as He is described in 'Sommertage,' is unseen, but powerfully moving at all times!"
"Now then, as I transition to the second corollary from there, Frau Mathews, you are a complex individual both deep and dynamic ... you are a deep river of a woman, and deep rivers take their time compared to the little brooks and creeks that run merrily over the face of the ground. They have much more to do, and much more to get safely to where it is going."
"That -- 'Deep River' -- is my favorite Negro Spiritual," I said. "I have not sung it in concert for many years ... and I have a new arrangement ... ."
"For bass," he said with a smile, "but put it up in C, and it will sing as well for contralto. I look forward to hearing your high E again, Frau Mathews, in due time. To return to my transition, it is natural that it should take some time for you to process all your emotions while in motion, and because you were seriously ill, even being in motion is more of a challenge ... but I see that you are meeting all challenges!
"I longed to come the day of your anguish and comfort you, but beyond the reminder of 'Irrlicht,' I was strictly forbidden to utter a word to you. You had to experience that pain, in full, and decide to what to do with it in light of what you are already equipped to know. And of course, I might have been just a little over-excited, relative to Earth's tolerances, when you made the right decision, Frau Mathews. You know that I was billed as 'warm, restrained, intelligent,' and sometimes I have to get my life together on those last two before appearing here!"
"And that, Frau Mathews, brings me to Corollary B ... to you it is a great mystery about the Cherubic Painter who painted a figure that does seem to evoke your essence unseen. Now, your overall idea is correct ... art can be a portal between two hearts that are called to meet ... the fact "Heart-Full" is on that card you picked without you knowing it was there is significant. However, meine Tochter, let me remind you of those things that you are not as aware of in the nature of men, and even about yourself. We observe women carefully, for we are wired to think of ensuring the future of the human race many times more strongly than you are, so we observe the women around us and who may be receptive much more intently.
"You are a beautiful woman, Frau Mathews, and as of next month will have spent 3.5 years, with two bouts of Covid not producing more than three weeks of a break at a time, with the violence of two winters not producing more than a few days of a break, improving your physical fitness and your connection with your neighbors. You are kind to everyone you meet, no matter their material status in life, and you make time for authentic conversations whenever you converse. Your voice is beautiful, and distinct. Some men might be disturbed by its depth if they are insecure about how much of a man they are conceived of as being, but any man past that will take great pleasure in hearing you.
"And then, this year you have decided to dress yourself in accord with the beauties of nature you are spending time in -- your Blumenkind era. You are slowly getting a little bolder about pink and red ... which is how Mr. Property Manager down the street thought he saw dawn a few weeks ago ... but understand, Frau Mathews, your male neighbors are observing you becoming more and more and more attractive. The Cherubic Painter just made bold since he had means to be generous, and as it happens, he did have the blue headband right, over a warm pink, and even has hair out an angle that does suggest your twists, but also he is silver-haired and might have painted blue instead of water-colored gray ... and he is quiet, but so full of love that he is out painting and blessing his neighbors."
"I like that kind of generosity in a man, very much," I said.
"I know, Frau Mathews, for that is your analog in the masculine. I am sitting here with you not least because you once saw how generous I was in person with a student, and your father, grandfathers, and grand old soldier are all generous men."
"But then let us go to the other end of the street to Mr. Dawnstruck -- you have met him before -- cast your mind back!"
"Yes ... he was going to the local store to buy the same things that I saw him using that last time we sighted each other."
"And on that occasion, you and he nearly collided and then stared ... there was strong mutual attraction, and both of you expressed that before bidding each other a good day and moving on!"
"That was before Covid ... but yes," I said. "He has been property manager for a long time down the street."
"But you and he both have similar responsibilities -- are you not deeply concerned with this similarly gold-colored beauty on the San Francisco skyline?"
"Yes, sir -- ten years and counting, although I'm not in management. I'm in clerical."
He laughed for quite some time.
"You are in clerical, indeed, the same way I somehow managed to get that better than front-row seat in Bruckner's F Minor Mass. But by all means, Frau Mathews -- it is true, and humility is important, and always the wisest choice of presentation! A man quietly of great and consistent stewardship is indeed your analog ... and as you see, these men are seeing you now, Frau Mathews. In the case of Mr. Dawnstruck, you have improved your fitness and color scheme so much that he likely recognized the old attraction but got surprised by the fact that both of you have aged, but only one of you has become more beautiful!
"Also tell me this, Frau Mathews. In a world in which insecure men are whining about needing to be a certain height and weight and have a certain amount of money to even get a woman, how tall are these men, and are they the same build?"
"Neither is anywhere near six feet tall -- not even close, and they are completely different builds, but neither considered the supposed requirement. The Cherubic Painter is pleasingly plump, and Mr. Dawnstruck is lean and wiry but not noticeably muscled."
"I will press further: can you tell me the voice of either man?"
"They are not basso profondo, that is for certain, but I really did not notice anything else."
"So then, Frau Mathews, there are the world's preferences, and then even your own preferences, and you did not care about either one ... you saw them, Frau Mathews, as they saw you. Now, you and Mr. Dawnstruck were still moving too fast in different directions to do more than stop and acknowledge each other, and the Cherubic Painter was relaxing and enjoying his afternoon just as you were, so those different connections occurred with you and each of them living their authentic lives. Do you see how none of you were screening for physical characteristics that are fashionable? Do you see how no one felt the need to talk about their assets and ex-wives?"
That tickled me.
"The quality of my interactions has indeed been improving," I said, and he laughed.
"Again, Frau Mathews, deep rivers take their time. Mr. Dawnstruck does not know it, but you are he are alike as good stewards of golden-colored buildings, for some years now. Remember also how the Cherubic Painter instructed you to some detail, having given you that painting before it dried ... best believe he observed how carefully you carried it home and did not let it get smudged. Men observe women, and that does not stop with age ... for you see, you chose and he gave you his heart, full, at least in painting, and you proved to be a good steward. Good stewards are not that common in the world, and rarely are they ones who stand out as the world counts standouts, but you will see, Frau Mathews, as harvest time approaches, that they are the ones who tend to have great, deep bounty to share with one another, and autumn's heralds are extant."
"Now, as you know, it is required of stewards that they be found faithful .. so then it is necessary that they leave off excessive concern for all things not in their stewardship and focus on what is, to make it the absolute best it can be. You have put more than two years into that aspect of your stewardship."
I jumped.
"Yes, I have purposefully recast your life since 2022 in that manner for your consideration, Frau Mathews. You were not aware that was what you were doing, but as you were led, you left everything that was not for you, and you are still doing so."
"I am so glad I remembered ... thank you for the glorious Blue Eternity bouquet and card that you sent to my meeting place last week," I said. "Even in the language of flowers, you sang so beautifully and powerfully that you just wrapped up my heart in blue velvet -- what pain, even in the face of that friend I had to drop to associate while still in periodic association?"
"You are most welcome, Frau Mathews," he said. "It was my deep, true blue pleasure. I thought about a singing telegram, but I hear that the workmanship on today's furniture is not as good, so if I had gotten carried away and gotten up on the meeting room table ... ."
He just broke me up, laughing, instead!
" ... that would be both bad artistry and bad stewardship, and that is not what we do, Frau Mathews."
"No, it is not," I said when I finally finished laughing.
"Stay consistent, Frau Mathews. Continue to choose the things that are yours, and we shall see what else shall be revealed to you among those things as the seasons change."
