and so it is.

for multiple reasons, thursday and friday of this week were long days - physically, emotionally, spiritually. once my friend adriane, when she was in an incredibly hard place, told me that although you may be experiencing great sadness, pain, or turmoil, that at least you know that you are alive; it may be counter-intuitive, but the days that take the most out of us also serve as a remember that at least we are feeling something.

at the same time, it can be exhausting to feel things so deeply, to wear life, to work through and process all that a day can hold. where are the spaces that renew us when the world is so heavy?

last night, amidst rumors of an evening of rain, matt and i made our way with some friends to the outdoor greek theatre in berkeley to see the icelandic band sigur ros. there is something in music that i think can heal the places in you that are weary; as the band came out and began, the music washing over me began undoing the damage of the day. a sigur ros concert is striking  in a couple of ways: one, it is incredibly quiet. that is in the nature of the music they make, but we were all standing still, absorbing the music. two, sigur ros sings in a combination of icelandic and hopelandic, a gibberish language they've constructed which has no meaning in and of itself. it is kind of amazing to see thousands of people quietly listening to songs that they will never understand a single word of, but which are some of the most moving songs i have ever experienced. as one song began, this guy behind me said, "this is the saddest song you will ever hear."  

i had mixed emotions- moments where i felt incredible sadness, thinking of how our daughter can't hear music. moments later i would feel the music- the bass, the drums- in my body, and i would turn to matt and smile, saying, "m would be able to feel this music." we kind of wished we had brought her with us. and then there were moments when i would think, "maybe she will hear music someday. maybe the implants will give her this gift- this feeling of being flooded with sound." these massive trees that ring the rear perimeter of the theatre were moving and rustling in the wind; it was haunting to watch them- i didn't need to hear the sound of the leaves shifting for it to be beautiful, but i thought of how it can be even more overwhelming to hear something at the same time as you are seeing it.

there were a few moments when rain threatened or a few drops fell, but we neared the end of the concert and we were still dry. the band came out for a final encore. they began a song that at first seemed like an awful closing song to play; in comparison to the preceding songs, it seemed maudlin and spare. i felt a little disappointed that this is was what they had chosen to close the show. a few drops fell, and as the song built in intensity, the rain began falling harder and harder. as the sky opened, the music rose to meet it, and we were covered in rain. the band, soaking wet, played louder and louder. it was incredible to be swallowed by the sound as the drops fell harder and faster.

and the evening ended with standing in the darkness, in the rain, in the music.

here is one of my favorite sigur ros songs. enjoy.