New York Sunset

The train I'm on is going over the east river and the sun is setting behind the city on my left.  New York has such beautiful sunsets.  I think a part of me believes a sunset is the unraveling of the drama of the day.  In Japan I was hardly ever able to see the setting sun, but typically when I did, it was very calm, whatever final cries it had to give us were hidden from our eyes by the omnipresent green hills.  But here in New York there is such a flare in the finality.  The ripping away seems so tragic, so glorious.  All the people, all the events, the thoughts, expressions, crammed into this tiny space, not ready to close out the day, restless and glowing into the night.  

I'm headed to New Haven, a place I've never been to stay with a friend of a friend the night before an inaugural audition back to playing.  Every time I approach an audition I learn something new.  The last few months have been busy with a move from another country, with seeing family, getting settled into a new place, furnishing an apartment, getting a job and training for that job.  Things have been unsettled.   But then when is life normal?  Regardless, I've admittedly had to come back into playing, trying to get not only my hands in shape, but my focus, my ears. 

I've been fairly preoccupied with the upcoming teaching at hand.  There has been a lot to process from the training, a lot of responsibility, a lot of planning, and I'm excited about what will come in the Suzuki class as well.  It is a novel thing which has taken my attention along with other aspects of getting settled in the city.  And to harness and redirect all the curiosity and piqued interest, all the things that I feel must be done and can be done in this new life and new world, so that I can focus on the art of preparing for an audition, has been difficult.  At first I was just was going through the motions.  I knew I had to practice, to get my fingers on the strings, to play something even if I'm not engaged.  But why?  Because I want to teach, and the return to practice is something I need to be able to teach to my students.  I'm slowly starting to feel the strings again as I remember doing before, slowly starting to hear what needs to be heard, to develop an internal pacing which allows me to slow down, take it apart, put it together again, hear more deeply.  And I'm remembering how all of these things which are usually so engrained in me have all been learned.  They are something I can give as long as I cultivate them in myself.  Now also, the gift of rebuilding and facing something when it seems to give me nothing.  I think practice is a way to love and a way to loving.  A way to keep the heart open. 

The sun is not gone, it's just with others.  It will be here again and again.  How wonderful to live in a world where there is always a tomorrow.