Sparks : A Song, Twilight Zones + Crepe Myrtle

A set of three from my time in Savannah

I’ve just returned from a few days in Savannah where I was attending my friend Leslie’s wedding. She asked me to sing ‘So This Is Love’ while she walked down the aisle and I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. Put me in front of thousands at a raucous music festival and I’ll muster the courage to boss up, but watching your friend walk toward the altar with her father’s hand and try keep it together? No chance. I did make it through the song (just) and it was a beautiful ceremony on a perfect autumn day in the South cradled by looming trees adorned in Spanish Moss. I ate shrimp and grits for the first time. Delicious.

I also had a new song come out on the same day, read a beautiful quote and was taken by an image that crossed my path. So I share these with you today for our newly launched Sparks series! I hope one or more feel resonant this week.

I like to spend my Sundays going inward and catching up on all the articles I’ve bookmarked or songs I’ve saved to listen to later. Perhaps I’ll go so far as to open one of the art books that sits on my bookshelf, collecting dust in the ‘One Day I Will’ pile. Nothing like a trip to Savannah to slow you down. I realize just how fast I move here in New York and I’ve returned with a softer step, which is most welcome. It is in these states of lull, mind-wander and even boredom that we do some of our deepest and greatest thinking, so I challenge you today to sit with these sparks then let them slowly unfold their meaning through their week without examination or force.
Ah yes, to a slow unfolding.

Spark #1

Henri Nouwen continues to be one of my favourite authors for his simple and firm capturing of the human condition and one’s longing for what lies beyond. But I’ve also long admired the extraordinary life of service he led especially in the last 11 years of his life when he chose to make a permanent home at L’Arche Community caring for people with intellectual disabilities. I return to his writings often but came across this quote on the plane to Savannah and it felt particularly well-timed as I reflected on my friendship with Leslie and how much she means to me.

I met Leslie over the internet after she sent a message telling me how much my music meant to her. She told me she was studying for a degree in Pharmacy but also sewing hats and scarves for the homeless in DC for a non-profit she started called Sew Many Lives. I was floored by her heart for service even in the midst of such grueling hours of study. On a whim, I invited her to join me at a soup kitchen I volunteer at in New York and we fell in Friend-Love soon after collaborating on projects and even traveling to Ethiopia together. Leslie is the kind of friend who can mirror back to me the things I often fail to see in myself. Henri speaks to this profound and even mystical reality about friendship in this quote. I would love to know what sparks when you read this.

“There is a twilight zone in our hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves - our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and our drives - large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness. This is a very good thing. We will always remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility, but to a deep trust in those who love us. It is the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.” 

― Henri Nouwen

Spark #2

I’ve been very excited for this song to come out because it marks a huge transition that took place in my life last year and I often feel I can’t truly move through important moments in my life until I’ve written about them. That’s the start of letting go, but there’s an even stronger hint of finality (I almost wrote closure but I'm feeling less convinced of the concept of closure these days… does a chapter ever fully close? or does it just change?) when releasing a song into the world and I got to experience that on Friday. Something that was once so deeply personal is now held by another, perhaps becoming their story, so that I can now write a new one. The other reason why this song is special to me is that it was written with one of my closest friends Hana Tajima-Simpson.

I’m working on a more in-depth post about the birth of ‘The Robin’ as it is a magical, serendipitous story starting with journal entires that Hana shared with me which I then turned into a lyric which then became a song. It was also recorded in a matter of hours and remained virtually untouched from ‘demo’ to mixing.

I am always careful to say that these sort of songs (the ones that appear to flow out in a torrent of inspiration and instinct) are not the norm. They are fleeting blessings amidst many songs borne out of labour. I don’t think one process is more special than the other, but I do feel humbled when a song choses me to write it.

I will speak more to this process later in the week but for now I want to share the lyric video that Hana created for the song. There’s a beautiful story to the artwork too but before sharing that I first wanted you to sit with the words and music, without examination or analysis of how it got here. Enjoy.

Spark #3

There were so many things I loved about Savannah on this recent trip but I was most taken by the nature (okay and the biscuits).

The wedding ceremony was held at the Ships of The Sea Maritime Museum, an ode to 18th century vessels fit with a beautiful parlor garden full of luscious greenery. I got to the ceremony rehearsal a little early on Thursday and was wandering around the garden before people arrived only to find myself in the presence of the most beautiful, elegant tree drowned in the light of the magic hour.

I have an app on my phone for identifying plants called Picture This though I wish I was one of those people who knew the names of trees off the top of their head, like my dad who can literally walk around a New Zealand forest back home and tell me all the Maori names of native trees plus an extensive background of their origin and estimate of how old they are. I’m in awe every time he does it and have secretly vowed to be like that when I get older. I think one trick to aging is to grow more curious with each year. Being a photographer my dad is prone to look outward, admiring the diversity of nature. But to also be able to name it as he sees it feels like a superpower. The gravity of ‘naming’ something has never been lost on me. Identifying a tree by its name feels like unlocking something ancient. This once foreign presence gains a personhood of sorts! A history and a family! And you become the humble investigator of its story… Ah yes, I vow to be more curious as the years go by.

This third spark is a simple recognition, naming and capturing of a regal tree I saw in Savannah: a Crepe Myrtle (also known as, Crape Myrtle, Indian Crape Myrtle and Crepe Flower).

I especially love the bark and the way the light illuminates certain parts of its earthy structure. The trunk appears limb-like, muscular even. I love the patchy colouring (bringing to mind my own Vitiligo skin condition). I think I stood watching this tree for about 15 minutes straight (this New Yorker’s on Southern Time now). I was just hypnotized by it. I realized later that I’ve seen this kind of tree before in a park near my apartment in New York. It’s a different kind of Crepe Myrtle but it has a similar style of bark and I often go just to touch the soft curvatures of the tree trunk. A grounding ritual of sorts.

Here are some photos I took of it various lights. Perhaps you might spot one where you live on your next walk.

Till next time,