This morning as I was walking from the ferry dock to the office, I found myself thinking of the final phrase Faust sings in Boito's opera Mephistophele. Faust sings ``stay, thou art lovely" upon seeing a vision of the heavenly host, despite the carnal and aesthetic distractions Mephistophele has spread out before him. Faust's embrace of the sacred defeats the bargain he made with the devil. As Faust dies, Mephistophele sinks, defeated, back into the pit of hell.
I saw San Francisco Opera's production of Mephistophele 20 years ago this coming autumn. The tickets were a wedding present to my husband and me from several friends who knew of his love of music. (They didn't yet know me well enough to know I would be equally thrilled).
Anyway, today I reflected on this phrase in entirely another context. At my age, I begin to have intimations of mortality. When my mother was my age, she'd been dead 12 years, and both of my grandmothers died at relatively young ages, too. I started thinking about what it is I relish so much about this life, at this time and in this space, particularly if time to enjoy this life is fleeting.
And funny thing, at least today it all came down to the first pale pink blossom on one of the two weeping cherry trees planted in tubs on the Bay side of the ferry building. Sakura, as the Japanese call them. They are so fragile, and so temporary. They emerge before any leaves begin to bud forth on those trees.
I've watched these trees through one turning of the wheel of the year now, as it's been just a little longer than that that I've been taking the ferry to work every day. I remember last year on chilly February mornings passing by the trees and noting their swelling buds and wondering just when the first blossom would burst forth. Then one morning at 6 a.m., from a distance I could see a tiny blur of pale pink near the tip of one of the blossoms. I knew the long dark season of winter was drawing to a close and soon Persephone would re-enter the world, pink and green and lovely.
The phrase from the opera -- ``stay, thou art lovely'' -- could apply to that cherry blossom. It's at its moment of perfection right now. All too soon it will drop from the tree, wither, and blow away. But its beauty lies to a great extent in its impermanence. If the tree were hung with the soft pink blossoms year round, I'd probably never stop, struck dumb by its beauty in an March dawn. So, much as I'd love to see it for more than the very few days it will be on the tree, I know it cannot stay. That all I can do is rejoice in the moment.
For me, that is the very essence of Paganism, this living in the moment, in the now. It's being awake to every change and nuance of the seasons, of knowing where we are in time and space. It's finding beauty and joy in one fragile pink blossom, or a great blue heron's feather discarded in the estuary near the ferry dock.
Several times I've been in Tokyo and visited the great Asakusa Kannon Temple. The main road up to the shrine -- nake mise -- is lined with shops that are all one-of-a-kind, where traditional craftspeople sell things like hand-made sembei ( rice crackers), fans, tabi (the white split-toe socks worn with zori), or kanzashi, the hair ornaments worn in a giesha's wig. And hanging from the roof of each shop were huge fake boughs hung with bright pink plastic cherry blossoms. They are the polar opposite of that one single blossom that so lifts my heart every morning. They are indestructible, festive and more than a little garish, hade in Japanese aesthetic terms.
So while I can appreciate the permanence and bright cheeriness of the fake plastic sakura, it's the fragility of the one-of-a-kind living cherry blossom that seems to me to sum up everything Faust embraced, as he rejected the allurements offered by Mephistophele. I hope I have many more springtimes to see these first blossoms. And I also hope that every morning as I walk by the two trees, I will continue to notice them instead of being distracted by the quotidien.
By the way, I just now found on YouTube a video of the final moments of San Francisco Opera's production of Mephistophele with the great Samuel Ramey as Mephistophele. It's totally over the top, complete with rose petals dropping from the skies, but is also one of the very best endings to an opera I've ever seen. Tenor Dennis O'Neill--in a white suit and clutching a Bible at the very end-- sings Faust. and Sam Ramey is diabolical, sexy and wonderful with bare chest and a bright-red wig.
I do love the ``Ave Signor'' chorus you will hear sung by the entire opera choru, costumed as the heavenly host in ghost masks, golden crowns and long white robes. It's an altogether remarkable piece of music, constructed in such a way that the melodic line seems to ascend and ascend and ascend. And yes, even though we Pagans don't believe in the devil or hell, Boito's glorious music made this one of my all-time favorite operas.
san+francisco California opera san+francisco+opera sakura cherry+blossom spring Persephone Tokyo Japan Mephistophele Ramey Boito Pagan Paganism