Let Them In

by John Gorka 

On this Veteran's Day, my favorite stunning song by John Gorka. Youtube version here.

"Let Them In" was made into song by John Gorka from a poem found in a hospital in the Philippines during World War II. The nurse that found the poem kept it all these years until the recent war brought out all the memorabilia. Luckily, her daughter sent a copy to John. 

Let them in, Peter

They are very tired

Give them couches where the angels sleep

And light those fires

Let them wake whole again

To brand new dawns

Fired by the sun not wartime's

Bloody guns

May their peace be deep

Remember where the broken bodies lie

God knows how young they were

To have to die

God knows how young they were

To have to die

So give them things they like

Let them make some noise

Give dance hall bands not golden harps

To these our boys 

And let them love, Peter

For they've had no time

They should have trees and bird songs

And hills to climb

The taste of summer in a ripened pear

And girls sweet as meadow wind

With flowing hair

And tell them how they are missed

But say not to fear

It's gonna be alright

With us down here

Let them in, Peter

Let them in, Peter

Let them in, Peter

© John Gorka, all rights reserved

The Eye of My Heart

This link is a small (created to run on an iPhone) version of a 12 minute slide show I've created of the 2010 Alasdair Fraser Sierra Fiddle Camp:


Sierra Fiddle Camp 2010 Slide Show 


It opens a Quicktime version of the slide show that downloads fairly quickly; however, because it is small in format - so are the images. If you open it with Firefox, it stays small and crystal clear. If you open it with Safari,  you get arrows in the bottom right corner of the video that allow you to view in full screen but not such great resolution.


For those of you interested in seeing a larger rendering of the show, try this link in Safari instead:


Sierra Fiddle (large file) Slide Show

This is a substantial file that may take a few minutes to download. It is SO worth the wait! For those of you with faster connections, it shouldn't present any problems, and the images will be lovely. For those of you still enjoying the meandering pace of a dial-up internet connection, forget about it. Sorry. Current Mac systems are going to have the best luck! (Hmmm, is this because Macs rule? Probably.)


At any rate...having my camera with me at this program was an amazing privilege and gift. I was reminded that if a photographer behaves herself, she often get the most intimate view of how life is unfolding around her. With that view comes responsibility. I've often learned to love the expressions, individual composition and inner light of my subjects before I even know their names. It makes me love them even more when their name finally comes to me.


Part of the reason this experience touched me so profoundly was because I saw things that no one else saw. How can I be witness to such intimacy and not be forever changed? Tell me. How will I ever be the same? May this show give you a taste of the magic.


With the eye that is also my heart, Martha

Y con amor y respeto por los talentosos músicos: (Slide show songs in this order)

Na Seitura Do Barros, played by Carlos Beceiro, Album: Mandolina

Giga De Tenerife, played by Alasdair Fraser & Natalie Hass, Album: In The Moment

Fox Trot De Algora, played by Diego Galaz Y Carlos Beceiro, Album: Bailes Vespertinos

The Artist And The Dancer , played by Hanneke Cassel Album: Some Melodious Sonnet

El Zángano. Diana, Segovia, played by Carlos Beceiro, Album: Mandolina

That's No Ordinary Vacation...

Recently, my amazing daughters and I attended Alasdair Fraser’s Sierra Fiddle Camp. Wait. Hold on. Before you go too far down the road with images of gnarled old farmers sitting on dusty front porches playing twanging tunes, let me explain:
This was eight days of creative immersion into a community of people (many in whole family units) of all ages, drawn together to learn a variety of Celtic and Galician-influenced music though fiddle, cello, mandolin, piano, bag pipes, dance, guitar and singing classes. We went to classes all day, participated in family-style meals, danced late into the night - every single night - and were essentially bathed in round the clock music making.

But fiddle camp is much more than all that.

When you get 175 like-minded folks together for over a week who genuinely want to learn, grow and feel, and then toss in twenty-one world class musicians who have donned their teaching hats as well as extracted their hearts from their pockets and placed them out for FULL sharing -- what emerges among the community is nothing sort of miraculous.

For Sarah and Ginny and I, the event was a rite of passage that we experienced both individually and separately, and because we were there together we had the honor of witnessing one another’s blossoming. Thank goodness I was present to be a part of what occurred for Sarah and Ginny, and I am equally grateful that they got to watch their mom change. To all you parents who drop their kids at camp and return a week later to pick them up...and you wonder why the kid you’re taking back home isn’t the same one you left off in the packing lot on Monday....I would suggest that it’s true: You may be picking up a very different person than the one who waved good bye. Instant community in a very safe and tremendously creative container can radically create shift in folks of all ages. If you’re not there to participate, then odds are - you’re not going to fully fathom what happened to those who did.

Since cancer has come and gone came from our lives many things have changed about the way our family lives life, including a far greater commitment to pay attention and participate - especially where my children are concerned. Yes, many among you would argue that taking time off from a brand new job was impractical; yes, for some of you the notion of trailing along behind one’s kids to summer camp sounds completely ludicrous; yes, it was both of those things. As a matter of fact, two weeks ago this morning as we drove South to Nevada City, California, I could have listed about fourteen reasons why it was down right stupid for me to be going to camp with my kids.

But I‘ve learned too much this year - and at too great a price - not to pay attention. So when Sarah said in earnest, “Mom, this is one of the best things that I do, and I really want you and Ginny to be there too.” She had me - no matter what.

Perhaps we could’ve had as profound a journey simply by taking a family vacation, but I seriously doubt it. Sarah watched Ginny and I pick up and begin to learn to play violins for the first time ever, while Ginny and I listened to Sarah take her music to a whole new level with joyful determination; Ginny tackled the navigations of getting to know many new teachers and friends, while Sarah and Ginny watched me interacting with other men and women who share the same passions. Surrounded by truly creative peers, Sarah spread her wings to full span and showed her remarkable authenticity, Virginia was wonderfully independent and bright eyed, and I was simply and wildly happy. My girls saw me laughing and engaging more than they’ve seen in years, and while we only ate a couple meals together all week long - we harmonized in singing class every day and danced together every night.


Just as Alasdair, upon introducing the musicians at our final public performance - went to great lengths to explain to the audience that “We are NOT a symphony. No. We are 175 wild, unruly and untamed fiddlers!” So too I say:
This was definitely NOT the typical American family vacation.

And we’re so much the better for it until next year, when you’ll find me driving as fast as it’s legal, kids in tow - to get to the dance floor at fiddle camp and strike up the music of our hearts.

Summertime Checklist

For many of us, having something to look forward to can make the "stuff of life" a little easier to handle when the going gets tough. Here's a short list of what I love about summer in Ashland and what, at this rainy point in the late spring, I turn my hopeful heart toward. Drop a comment and add to the list....

1. Rarely setting alarms and moving to the rhythm of a more natural inner clock.
2. The sound of cicadas singing.
3. Falling asleep to the rhythmic click of the ceiling fan.
4 . Eating every meal on the back porch.
5. Walking barefoot through newly watered grass.
6. The sound of rotating sprinklers on a wide lawn.
7. The smell of Peter Buckley’s barbeque being lit up - night after night.
8. Sitting directly in front of a floor fan.
9. Weeding the garden early in the morning.
10. Long meandering hikes through dusty quiet wood.
11. The familiarity of a Sousa march being played in the band shell in the park.
12. Wading in an icy cold creek, to the point of bright red numbed toes and legs.
13. Bare skin.
14. Looking out from under the brim of a straw hat.
15. Potluck dinners under shady arbors.
16. Raspberries.
17. Crispy, drip down your chin, wet red watermelon.
19. The sound of neighbors laughing through their open screen doors.

20. Candlelight.

21. Ginny reading in the hammock.
22. Going to into an air conditioned movie house and walking back out into a sauna two hours later.
23. Picking and eating - straight from the garden: snap peas, pole beans, warm rip tomatoes.
24. Cotton dresses.
25. Marveling at the 4th of July territorial parade watching shenanigans.
26. Dancing under the moon.
27. Sneaking around the neighborhood after dark, playing hide and seek.
28. The thrill of the lemonade stand.
29. Driving with the windows down.

30. Cold beer - in quantity - combined with an equal share of good friends.

31. Putting away the lawn mower - job well done.
32. The first thunderstorm - it’s electrical charge and that delicious smell of wet, hot pavement.
33. Popsicles consumed in a good people watching place.
34. Outdoor concerts with starlight and half moon rising by the fourth song.

35. Driving to the coast - and the way the air temp drops 30 degrees on the other side of the tunnel!
36. The purple vetch that covers the foothills until mid July.
37. Campfires - story telling, poking sticks into the coals, the way the flames make faces glow.
38. Picking blackberries..eating blackberries...picking - eating - picking - eating.
39. The sheer voluptuousness and bounty of the stalls at the Growers Market.

40. Painting in my bikini.

41. Sprinkler games.
42. Gracie playing fiddle tunes outdoors at dusk.
43. Fresh Basil...armfuls of it...
44. Sinking - more fully - into the warm, full, ripe, inviting moments of each day.

"A case for tone deaf-two left footed-blocked writers."

When we’re children we all see ourselves as artists.

We see ourselves very clearly as artists until well intentioned and generally loving and chronologically older people socialize us in other directions.

So, when we were kids we actually knew without much question that yes, we were painters, dancers, music makers, storytellers, sculptors, actors and poets. The world was our canvas, and our imaginations and usually very few outside objects were our palates, tools, musical scores and scripts.

We didn’t differentiate being an artist from being ourselves. (By the way, we were also scientists, architects, doctors, athletes, teachers, explorers and any other number of types of “people” we could conceive of in our minds and hearts.)

Somewhere between the state of wonder  and the region of adulthood, our perceptions of ourselves underwent some fairly radical redefinitions. Along with those redefinitions there were heaping doses of judgment mixed in: “This drawing is good.”   “That dance was so-so.” “The song sounds like it needs a little more practice.”  “You’ve got ‘real’ talent.” “Hey look, you got an A” and so forth. It became difficult to continue seeing oneself as much of a creative being when there was always a yardstick being held up by others and eventually, by oneself.

The end result is a rather backward evolution from being thriving artists to being: tone deaf- two left footed- stick figure drawing-blocked writers. Picasso nailed it when he observed, “Every child is an artist, the problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”

A giant part of how we grow and learn is tied very tightly with the fundamental need to creatively realize ourselves in the world. It’s vital to give kids opportunities to express themselves in a wide variety of ways and chances to deepen existing relationships with different artistic modes. By giving a child the opportunity for a “WOW” experience in the arts, she might be emboldened to see herself as an artist straight through childhood and into adulthood. He's more likely too, to use that part of his personality to strengthen whatever he has decided to do in the world. 

For those of us who've already crossed into grown up land and have realized that we may have left a crucial part of ourselves behind, we need to remember that not only is it not too late to reclaim our artist-selves - but it may very well be the key to keeping our hearts intact for the long journey of life. It’s as much about choice and attitude as it is actual activity, and it has nothing to do with other people’s assessments. Remember the first line of this post? It’s how you see yourself.

I can look everyone of my close friends in the eye and tell them the ways that I believe they are artists. (Some of them might be a bit shocked!) But who cares what I think, what can you see in yourself?

"Everything we do is art and can be an act of artful living - if we so choose. Writing, drawing, baking, dancing, relationships, work, parenting, even just siting still - especially just sitting still, are all forms of artistry."   m.l.p.

Healing with Sound

I've been enjoying working with Synthesis of Sound on their new website. It's concise, clear and lovely. The GENESIS sound therapy system is a fairly unique healing modality and quite extraordinary to experience first hand. Rather than try to explain, I hope you'll enjoy exploring the materials, images and resources of their new site. I also highly recommend that you contact Anthony John and try out the GENESIS for yourself! 

“Music washes away from the soul
the dust of everyday life.” 
~ Berthold Auerbach