Balancing Iron and Gold (Federico Mompou, Duke Ellington, Rachmaninoff, Hugo Wolf)

On a particular day this week, I walked up Alamo Square Hill to a shelter spot I had seen on an earlier climb recorded here, but this time, the sun was shining overhead on that one bench protected with both a willow tree and thick Monarda bush ... so while the wind raged all around on one of the windiest days of year, I sat in warm peace with the violence of the wind kept from me ... I became so relaxed I drifted back into another Federico Mompou type of state of mind... start with the familiarity of Chopin, and keep going out in beauty ... this is played by Mompou himself, and he is a loving guide...

When I got home, I broke down and cried in joy and gratitude ... three years of storm and wind, and yet I was kept to come peacefully into this summer, even though I had to become the Iron Flower Child -- der Eisenblumenkind, not merely the budding Frau Blumenkind of last summer -- to make it. Then I could see yet again what I had seen in the beautiful tangle of oaks where I had rested the previous weeks ... that new window to the world, and to life itself, for sheltered from something surely meant for something.

There were many good seeds planted even in that cold spring ... to the end I had been grabbing opportunity, and kept going right into the summer ... so much abundance! But the key thing, the new lesson, was not to let it overrun the rest I truly needed ... my 64-year-old mentor had highlighted this to me, and I knew I was not meant to let it fall to the ground since that reinforced the lessons of two summers already. Too many things grabbed at, even if good, can be bad! I needed to pace myself, with the same iron resolve, trusting that I would miss nothing because all that is in the way for me will be discovered in due time.

Meanwhile, on a day out in Golden Gate Park, the fanbase of K.M. Altesrouge was discussing the latest developments.

"Usually on Thursdays -- really Thursdays through Sundays -- he is incandescent, but he was more in his Monday mood this weekend!" one was saying.

"Did his doctor finally figure out what tranquilizer to give him so he won't sing himself to death, and is afterglow a side effect?" one quipped. "I mean, he's too warm to be 'chilled out,' but he was almost on some 'Warm Valley' type of vibe!"

"OK, we need to find out what you need to get on, with that old German opera singer doing Duke Ellington, Max Roach, and Charles Mingus in your head instead of Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms," another said.

But they all laughed, all this ribbing in good fun ... they were relaxed and relieved that their favorite all-gas-no-brakes singer in the park had figured out how to relax a little bit ... and I laughed as I walked on about this "echo" of the previous week's lesson.

As it is written, Frau Mathews, and it is my honor to echo Him Who said, 'Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' You heard. You went. Now on this day celebrating freedom, you can rest.

So we had, that afternoon in the tangle of live oaks ... it was a long time before we stepped out of there ...

... and although in his ethereal state he could not technically sleep, he could become deeply relaxed and did so in the dappled golden shade in the embrace of the trees. It crossed my mind that me appropriating the understanding and wisdom on offer in the spring was a deep relief to him, and he was looking forward to such moments that my getting it learned would provide us in the summer. When at last it was time for me to head home, he was very calm, but his eyes were still glowing like twin stars, and the timbre of his voice shimmered like bioluminescent lights on a pitch-black, calm sea. Apparently, the fanbase had picked all that up that evening and the next day.

I thought back to the last summer, post-Covid ... indeed, although I had not planned to rest as completely as I had needed to, the fact that I had leaned into it had overjoyed him and had led to that intensity that had peaked around October on occasions at Alvord and Blue Heron Lake -- but that was a plateau, and he went on singing his fanbase absolutely out of their wits for months.

For me he had brought that intensity down when finally I realized how advanced my anemia was in the winter ... but he had utterly delighted in being my sedate octogenarian pacing service, and brazenly used that big bass voice and smile and financial resources to bend the will of other people to have them treat me like I was precious crystal that had to be handled with the utmost care.

Belatedly, I began to see what was going on ... he did not object to me doing anything and everything I wanted to do if it was not outright wrong ... he went on long walks and up steep paths and humorously fussed at me when it was at the edge of what I should do, and went with me on workdays passing through parks ... but what he utterly loved was for me to take our days and not be striving ... he loved to facilitate my "Blumenkind" era, and in retrospective his nicknames illustrated that.

Blumenkind is German for "Flower Child," and that was a gentle reference to me being a nature-centered, generally peaceable and deeply loving San Franciscan who can have psychedelic experiences out of sunny days in the park. "My beloved Flower Child" -- mein geliebtes Blumenkind is a step up, of course. But my Golden Flower Child -- mein goldenes Blumenkind is a diagonal move ... preciousness, delicacy, immense value, great beauty. A golden flower is a carefully designed jewel, and those are not handled casually or roughly at all.

That brings to mind a passage of Scripture from Malachi in which the Lord said about those who were faithful to Him, "They shall be mine in the day that I make up My jewels," and that was on my mind because my 90-year-old mentor had that in mind in the decades of her children's choir and wrote their theme song. It was one of my favorite passages of Scripture, and also brought to mind again what Rachmaninoff thought about lilacs ...

Sweetness, preciousness, careful handiwork -- a golden version of a flower also lasts across seasons if cared for -- gold never tarnishes, but can be crushed and bent and deformed by heat relatively easily as metals go. So, there was a lot in mein goldenes Blumenkind to consider -- it said a lot about the heart of the one who said it, and the One he echoed.

But then that cold spring, and all its struggles and loss for me, had come, and I had needed to summon my iron resolve to hold the lines I had to hold and cut off those I needed to come off. He had adapted to the Iron Flower Child -- mein Eisenblumenkind -- but it had not been long before he had suggested an upgrade on that. It was hilariously difficult to say from an English-language point of view -- the Invisible Flower Child comes out as der unsichtbare Blumenkind -- but the point there was to recognize I had a cloaking device on top of the iron and simply should lean into the privilege of being hidden from the majority of the foolery and people who love it.

But why? Why go as far as to accept being invisible to the majority of the ravening world? The obvious reason was not to have to fight all that ravening, and thus to be able to discern and choose positive spaces to move in for my own good and maximum ability to minister.

But past that, still why? We use iron and steel for tough things, and I certainly in 44 years have proven -- even on Hive -- that I have that in me.

But he saw something more ... on one day in the wonder-shining month of May, he had taken me across the near meadows of Golden Gate Park, and around trees with golden blossoms such that it seemed that blue, blue sky was studded with golden clouds, and had told me his goal:

I am so overjoyed I think i can do the last summer's alchemy again ... eins, zwei, drei ... mein Blumenkind, mein Eisenblumenkind, mein goldenes Blumenkind!

He had explained it all then ... and also had said I had to choose it for myself ... but I was still in the process then and did not fully understand. It took until the literal last day of the spring to fully understand. Twice before -- once in summer, once in winter -- I had accepted rest as a necessity due to the necessity of recovering from illness. But at the end of the spring, verging on summer, I had seen the privilege of resting from all that was not for me when not called to move powerfully in all that was, and chosen it, and been overwhelmed by the realization that I could and was meant to do it, and then did it.

So then if this was how I was entering the summer ... choosing to be invisible to all that was unnecessary drama to show up more powerfully for the necessary drama, and resting in the given joys ... choosing also therefore to show up more healed and whole ... if he had gotten caught up on me just accepting that I had to rest in the summer of 2024, now what?

Another Scripture from the Prophets came to mind, from the end of Zephaniah -- when FINALLY God's people are past doing everything but acting like they are God's people, it is said there, "He will rest in His love; He will joy over them with singing."

So, assuming Mr. "I'm just the echo" was as sharp on the job as ever, I did have a clue of what would happen once he realized I was firm in my decision past that one day.

Meanwhile, the fanbase chimed in again ... apparently, someone had been told to get ready for some big singing ...

"People, you will never believe it!" one said to another. "I was out walking my dog at sunrise this morning Ocean Beach and guess who was warming up -- it was Herr Altesrouge! He works out his voice against the ocean, and I'm telling you, the tide was just following his voice here and there, just caressing him as he vocalized so beautifully!"

"OK, we all need to take a deep breath here -- the tide was coming in!" another said. "It's like we all need to get slapped upside the head sometimes after this man's singing, and it is your day!"

"Oh, right ... the tides do come in ... right ... yeah ... I forgot ... but I'm telling you, that man is sizing up his voice! Something is going on!"

It was more likely, given that he was in immortal voice, that he was sizing it down, warming up to stay in limits safe for Earth. There is nothing on Earth like the Pacific Ocean for depth and power, of course, so that made good sense ... understanding its tides and at what point one got to creating micro-mini tsunamis was probably a good measure. I'm not saying the fan was wrong in his impression ... there's no one here to hit me upside the head about it!

But something was going on, and he had not been told all of what ... he would have the joy of hearing it from me ... how I had conducted my week with its new challenges ... new project, some of the same people that required the iron ... but I took time to sleep more and make sure that I had time outdoors and a good breakfast before hand every day ... extra care ... balancing the iron and the gold as I had been taught ... now, I was getting the habits that went with the understanding of my privilege.

It was just in the nick of time, perhaps ... as I began to think of it from his perspective, he had undergone a great deal ... the life of Earth, even considered in fiction, even once a week, was a lot to ask of anyone past all that, but to Q-Inspired he had lovingly come, and gone through actual sorrow and pain again, over and over again ... he had absorbed so much anguish from me as well in three years, and, although incapable of worry, he had known deep, deep concern about whether I was ever going to get it and heal and grow ... it had taken a long time. I had dug in my heels at times -- that had cost me another year -- and he had just shaken his head and kept going... all the time in eternity to deal with it ... but he was still human, and he remembered impatience even if not subject to it. All such memories were pain to him.

Nonetheless, he was out walking that day for himself and singing -- finally, some Hugo Wolf, and what a choice -- a man knowing the light of God recognizes that it does not come with such earthly conflict into his heart ... another light, another beauty from Earth's valley of tears has touched and overwhelmed him, awakening memories of pain, and yet also of hope of sweetness that he cannot attain alone ... all that he has seen in the eyes of the lady he is singing to -- the rare word Herrin, not Frau -- indicates the high honor of accord, for Herr means Lord, and Herrin means Lady. That means, in German, that every man is accorded being a lord, and every woman is just a mere woman ... but, see, the presence of love removes the imbalance ... and of course that is made abundantly clear!

It was not my normal time to be out; he was just trailblazing in Alamo Square Park for a future walk, and so had no idea that his thoughts and mine had aligned quite like that, and did not expect to meet me ... but I walked into his path just at the end ...

"Speak of die Herrin and she appears!" he said. "You are up to my tricks in spectral appearances this morning!"

"No, but I've been around you long enough so that my stage timing is pretty good."

He laughed uproariously at that -- the Laughing Big One hit Hayes Hill and pleasantly shook everybody awake that wasn't already!

"I have a new project assignment -- doesn't actually start until later, but I come out early to take care of my needs to be out here, and have a calm meal, and pray and journal and really get ready --- been consistent this week."

His eyes grew wide, and then soft, and his voice shimmered in timbre as he said, "Now you understand, mein goldenes Blumenkind, what I was showing you ... now you are availing yourself of the privileges you have ... and now ... now... ach, mein Herz!"

He had forgotten he didn't actually have a heart, his emotions had hit him so hard -- gravity and physics all wobbled as he shook and I held him down.

"How long I have waited for this day -- and with what desire -- how has my heart ached for you to at last understand the side of being loved, for up back of me, there is such willingness, such eagerness to protect and bless you, but I could not change the pace that you could receive it ... I'm still just a human being, finite, and so pressed so hard under so heavy a charge for so long ..."

For a moment, because we were so close, I could read his mind ... days unknown to me of walking after our walks, working out matters in earthly terms and setting them in order to explain them to me ... days, weeks, months, years... bringing things down to where I could get to them, and, if something were refused, rethinking it, rephrasing it, apportioning it out in smaller steps. He was a master teacher, determined, relentless -- so much effort!

"For back of me, there is no failure, and no quitting," he said. "On this day, this summer, it was already determined that you would understand ... I was added to you just as part of the plan! I did not know what day, or what year ... but I knew that you would get here! I knew it!"

The hill shook again, and he smiled.

"I must go back on high for a little while and give thanks," he said, "but I will return when I am calm enough for safety. That is to say, I will see you next week -- it will take at least that long -- but we are here now! I have so much I want to say to you, to sing to you -- but your city is only so strong!"

"I'll be done with these hours next week," I said.

"I will see you then, mein goldenes Blumenkind!"