Spirits Lifting or Three Knocks from the Brigadier

I’ve been told that when I was about three of four years old, I had a friend that no one could see but me. I hesitate to call him, her or it imaginary. My friend—Gogi by name— attended many family functions, and I would always insist that an additional place be set beside me. My relatives always complied, no questions asked. I don’t ever remember being ridiculed for making these requests. My Godmother remembered that when I was about five and at one particular Thanksgiving dinner, I asked that Gogi’s place setting be removed. Evidently, my friend had recently moved to France. 

I’ve held no memory of any of this. However, there’s a very strong possibility that Gogi relocated  to Manhattan. My mother, recalling my very first trip to New York City, always made a point of telling me how I’d confided to her that I’d be living here someday. I was five years old and maybe experiencing some kind of separation anxiety. Could it be that Gogi was a ghost  whispering into my ear? Not entirely ridiculous—I’m a very good listener and follow direction well. And as Manhattan is a borough full of all kinds of crazy and wonderful energy, it’s likely I’d be game to follow a happy ghost’s guidance. Ghosts figure prominently in most creative lives. In fact, there’s a theatrical tradition that began in France in the Dark Ages that called for a Brigadier Stick to be pounded three times on a stage floor to announce the beginning of a play’s performance. There were both practical and mystical reasons for doing this. Practical signals for work to halt once the performance began—transcendent reasons associated with the Christian faith’s mystery of the Holy Trinity having been completed—perhaps signaling the commencement of a new mystery waiting to unfold once the grand drape rose. But, there’s also an apocryphal definition that I prefer to put my faith in. The Brigadier stick was a kind of symbolic hammer meant to crack a theatre’s floorboards--stirring up the ghosts who had once performed there—creating a mystical communion between past and present—an event to celebrate. In these challenging times, we learn to make due with concrete and tar as a substitute for theatre floorboards.

Hard times make for great creativity. We’re all of us struggling. But, artists find ways to practice their play. 

And fortunately often in public. 

Not to play is not to live. 

A few days ago. I looked over our fourth floor balcony and saw a woman moving across the courtyard with a cello. I thought—well, won’t this be nice—a solo performance, maybe? 

After about ten minutes or so—I lifted my head again to see twenty seven other musicians had joined this woman.—a full string orchestra was playing to a very surprised and grateful social distancing audience of about thirty residents. I assume several of these musicians are  orchestra pit players for the musical houses that have remained dark here 

these past few months. 

Feeding your soul brings light to dark times. So, recognize your talents and share them. You’ve displayed them ever since you were an inventive kid trick or treating. 

Thanks for letting me share a heartening “Boo” with you from New York City! 

I’m already pickin’ up some of your good vibrations…

Be Well.

Stay Engaged…And

Happy Halloween!