After a day of beginning the clearing of Jutta's home, we spoke of unexpected remembering.
Originally posted February 1, 2009:
What Remains
It happened in a yoga class.
Clair de Lune by Debussy.
A perfect musical selection to launch resting bodies into an hour of hell which was eventually suppose to lead to improved health.
But for me I was suddenly in a minefield of millions of years wandering around the house as her fingers broke the heart of her piano, this piece swirling through my childhood's silence, and sang her own sorrow and disappointment.
In a class of 40, the only student over the age of twenty-five, preparing to drag my fifty years from child pose toward some recovery, the vision of Florence - the young girl playing as if the piece heralded hope and love when she grew up - crushed me deeper into the mat.
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