Interlude
Silence Until the Opus Resumes
For those of you who enjoyed my previous contemplation, entitled Decrescendo, you might anticipate a future issue entitled “Crescendo.” Instead of pondering the upcoming upward direction of my life, I consider the quiet time after the music stops; the interlude of silence while waiting until the opus resumes.
Note about the image: This is a picture of me taken some time in the late 80s or early 90s. I was sitting in one of the various offices I have occupied at my soon-to-be-previous employer.
My Mysterious Mind
A good friend of mine is a member of the board of directors for the local symphony. She has invited me to attend several performances with her, enriching my world with magnificent orchestral experiences. As a rural, farm girl, growing up in a small town, my musical exposure was limited to the country music playing on the radio stations chosen by my parents and the popular rock music playing on the radio of the school bus. There was no classical music in my world until adulthood when I discovered the rich complexity of such marvelous arrangements. Attending the symphony with my friend I learned that sometimes the music stops but it isn’t time to applaud.
Some compositions consist of movements interspersed by quiet interludes where the audience is supposed to sit in complete silence, awaiting the next movement. This quieting of the symphony hall allows the musicians to prepare for the next part of the score; it also invites the audience to reset their minds and hearts for a different section of music. Audiences who are not regular attendees of the symphony don’t realize they are supposed to wait quietly; they will typically applaud every time the music stops, creating noise in the space where silence is supposed to be.
The “music” of my time at my current university has been playing in several movements over nearly 40 years. The most recent 24 years has been the longest piece, but there were shorter bits starting as early as 1985. Across several years I taught a class or two as an adjunct. There was a span of five years in the 1990s where I taught full-time as a “lecturer.” When I emptied my office at the end of that five-year phase, I walked off the campus carrying a box of my things, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I vowed to never teach there again. There was no applause at the end of that movement.
As I wrap up the final duties for my final semester, there is a strange quietness. The “audience” has not been given a cue to applaud, most of them have no idea I am retiring. There is no retirement reception for me because my current college home barely knows I have been there. I went to a dinner for all retirees on Tuesday night. The university president, who knows me well from my Faculty Senate leadership, approached me and told me “congratulations,” followed by “I didn’t know you were retiring until I saw your name on tonight’s program.” During the event a series of photos scrolled on the screen, including mine. No names were ever read. No applause was offered for any of the people retiring, including me. It was a lovely event otherwise, but, again, no applause.
On Thursday night I went to the awards banquet for my current college because there was supposed to be a recognition of their retirees. As the dean made his remarks to cue the slide about the retirees, he spoke of a “bittersweet” time because some people were retiring. Then a single slide, with names in small font, appeared on the screen. I searched for, and found my name: “Cynthia MacGregor, Professor, Counseling.” Counseling? I have never been a part of the counseling program and am not now. Sure, I taught a class or two for that program, but my current “program” area is psychology. Again, there was no applause for each retiree as no names were read.
So, I’ve been thinking about the lack of applause at my departure. There has not been, and will not be, a retirement reception for me. The conductor has not cued the audience to acknowledge the ending of my season of “music” at this university. I am in an interlude, a time for which the audience is not supposed to applaud, because my music is not over, only the current portion of it.
As I walked through the empty banquet tables at the end of the college awards night, a woman stopped me to offer her congratulations. She smiled sweetly and said, “you probably don’t remember me.” In the 1990s, during a previous season of employment at my current university, she had been a student of mine in a section of Introduction to Psychology, one of 167 students in a lecture hall. She told me about herself, now an employee in my temporary college home, but, years earlier, she was in a “lost” phase during which she had been in my class. She enthusiastically described how much being in my class had helped her. Over 30 years ago, she had sat in the front row of the lecture hall in which I taught; she sought me out to thank me at this night where my retirement was barely noticed. She stepped forward from a time forgotten by the university; God saw me then, and sees me now, even as I am overlooked by those who should be noticing.
Another movement of my professional life has ended, the audience sits quietly, awaiting the next. The lack of applause doesn’t mean no one has noticed the music has stopped. In fact, one person in the audience heard an earlier movement and is still cherishing its beauty. Her path crossed mine again and she softly, and sincerely, expressed her gratitude for what my “music” had meant to her. There was no applause, but the end of the current musical movement didn’t go unnoticed. The Composer of my entire opus has directed me, and the audience, to take a moment to process the previous movements before moving on to the next.
Message from Mystery Acres
When staying overnight in the forest, I love the quiet pause between daylight and sleeping. After darkness has enveloped the forest, and stars have silently dotted the big screen above, there is a beautiful stillness. The day’s activities conclude as the sunlight and energy for work have slipped away. The next day will resume a time of active movement; but, briefly, there is a space in which to be awake but not doing anything. My husband and I sit and absorb the majesty of the night sky, then retire to our motor-home for the night.
I suppose this is the interlude between movements of the opus for our time in the forest. As someone who likes getting things done, this pause between doing and sleeping was foreign to me at first. Life in the concrete and asphalt jungle is a non-stop shifting from one activity to the next, with interludes filled with the screens of phone, computer, or television. But here, in the forest, daily interludes signal a pause for quiet reflection, resting without yet sleeping.
The message of Mystery Acres encourages us to pause and be still between times of activity, and especially after the tiring work of each day. These interludes are times of quietness without sleeping or screen-based distraction. I recall a quote from Kurt Vonnegut, who said, “I am a human being, not a human doing.” Interludes invite us to remember that our existence doesn’t have to consist of non-stop activity, but can, and should, include times to just be. It is in that spirit that I invite you to ponder and sit quietly with me. The music will resume again, but, for now, it can stop for a bit; there is no need to fill the void with applause.
Ancient Mystery’s Voice
“It is good to wait quietly for the Lord’s deliverance.” (see Lamentations 3:26)
When a composer creates an opus, or composition, that larger piece is often divided into movements, with those movements numbered. Each movement might have a different mood and style, with some uplifting and others somber or even distressing. These movements of an opus are a bit like the “seasons” of a human life; there are light, cheerful times and dark, troubled ones. Some “seasons” are short; others seem to drag on without end.
The movements are individually named and typically numbered. The spaces between the movements are nameless interludes of silence. The orchestra members rest and refocus for the next section; the audience pauses to absorb the impact of the previous section and rebuild anticipation for the next. My husband is a pyro-technician who has helped to choreograph many fireworks shows. Some are an endless barrage of colors, types, and sounds, a display called “carpet bombing.” In the higher quality of choreography, the movements of firework choices and patterns are interspersed with times of rest, or “dark sky moments.” The brain, in order to thoroughly enjoy the intensity of fireworks, needs time for its neurons to recharge.
In life, as in music, this time of waiting and recharging between intense phases, doesn’t have a name. The name “dark sky moment” may not elicit a pleasant reaction; but, as a viewer of countless fireworks shows, I can attest to its rich value. During a dark sky moment, the audience can finish reacting to the fireworks they have just experienced and prepare to react to the next ones. This quiet interlude and blank sky is a peaceful, re-energizing time. When the fireworks begin again, one’s heart and mind can respond with greater appreciation.
The book of Lamentations is a sorrow-filled part of the Bible. The writer laments chapter after chapter of distressing scenarios, but, interspersed in this lament, are a few dark sky moments. Rather than being a time to recharge from the splendor of a fireworks display, the author speaks of a time of great and horrible difficulty. He, and the reader, long for deliverance.
At a pause in the lament-filled movements, he wrote, “It is good to wait quietly for deliverance.”
Whether it is a pause in a barrage of fireworks, an interlude between musical movements, or a break in the suffering of a hard season, there is healing in waiting and hoping silently for help to arrive. The words of Ancient Mystery invite us to suspend our activity, especially during a season of struggle, and rest in the peace of a dark sky moment.
Living in Mystery
What does it mean to live in the mystery of interludes, those silent spaces until the music resumes? An enriched and joyful life is one with seasons of wonder, but it will also inevitably have times of difficulty. Between these intense movements of the musical score of life are the interludes, the times of quiet when awaiting deliverance and moments of silence while pondering the end of an amazing chapter.
An interlude is a break in the stimuli of life bombarding our senses, intense cues to be happy or sad, demanding adaptation or at least a response. Rather than filling these “times between” with sensation-seeking from a device or a restless, impatience, living in the mystery of the interlude is to know it is good to sit and wait quietly until the music begins again. Has something amazing just happened? Ponder and experience the resonating awe of it. Has a time of hardship just ended? Rest and recover in the empty space.
For me, the past few years have been a carpet bombing of wonderful and difficult experiences. Just this year, I welcomed two new grand-babies and look forward to the years ahead of watching them grow and become who they were designed to be. The awe of their tiny perfection is worth a silent interlude in which to just sit in wonder and gratitude. The past year has also brought disappointments from the university I am leaving, and mysterious messages of validation from former students and colleagues. The magnitude of separating from the employer with whom I have spent the majority of my adult life warrants some quiet contemplation of what is happening to me. The summer ahead will bring essential preparation for what comes next, combined with final steps for complete departure from what’s behind, but it also calls for rest. Before I actively move into the next movement of the “music” of my life, I need to pause, sit quietly, and patiently wait. My heart, spirit, and mind have been overtaxed for quite a while; an interlude will allow much-needed recharging and healing.
Living in the mysterious value of interludes can also be a daily practice. As each day ends and the clamor of demands grows silent, relish the still pause in the dark sky moment before slumber. Tomorrow can be bright and busy, the night will bring sleep, but the pause before the day is officially done is a space in which to rest the heart and mind. Take some time to stop doing and just be. Listen to the quiet beauty of breathing. Ponder the day’s events that brought unexpected delight. Review the blessings in and around you. For a few moments leave tomorrow until it arrives, and let your heart and mind settle from the day just ended. It is good to sit quietly.
Life, as in glorious musical compositions, comes to us in movements. Between those movements are unnamed, often unnoticed, interludes. These spaces are not intended to bring the restlessness of emptiness but, rather, interludes can be moments of peaceful restoration and silent preparation. Live in the mystery of restorative interludes by sitting quietly when waiting for your opus to resume.
Connecting With Mystery
Dear Lord of All Mystery, I recognize You as the Great Composer of the opus that is my life. I know my life, by design, has bright times and difficult ones. Help me to rest in the interludes You offer in the spaces between these times. Remind me to find a peaceful, dark sky moment, at the end of each busy day. Thank You for all of the “music” you have designed my life to include. Amen.
Notes from Dr. Mac
If you want to do your own investigation of any of the scriptures I use, I suggest you go to Bible Gateway. This free online version of the Bible allows a search of words or phrases in various translations. You might enjoy reading Lamentations chapter 3, verse 26 in the various translations; just click on “other translations.” The invitation to sit quietly has several wonderful variations.
You can find previous posts and podcasts in my ARCHIVE and organized compilations in the My “Books” section. You can also find Mystery’s Voice on Spotify.
Do you have thoughts to share? Please leave a comment below or through the Substack App, or email me privately at Dear Dr. Mac. I love to hear from you!
