Rachmaninoff: vocalise op. 34 n. 14

While I was listening to this piece 

this Saturday morning 

in front of the fire

with my eyes closed

sipping on some coffee 

(my latest favorite:  House of Good by Blue Bottle)...

I decided, shit.

This is IT.

This is the penultimate.

I thought:

If I was dying and I was still coherent enough to listen,

or if someone ever decides to come and shoot me...

if I had a second to even get a word in with them 

before they pulled the trigger,

I would say to them, 

"Fine.  Just let me listen to Rachmaninoff's Vocalise first."

 Let it be the last thing I hear.

But then I'd ask for more things, of course.

A pen and paper so I could write my last words to my sweet love,

which I really should have asked for first

if I could only be granted one wish.

 

I'd kiss my dogs on the forehead for the millionth tender time.

 

I'd ask to go throw some scratch feed out for our hens

and watch them enjoy it so happily.

 

I'd ask to sit in the sunlight.

I'd probably also ask for one last chocolate from Oliver Kita.

Cognac creme brulee comes to mind. 

Or the marzipan.

And of course, the more I would think about it,

I'd start asking for more of my favorite things,

because that's just who I am.

I'm the more-more-more girl. 

And maybe after all of that

my potential shooter would decide 

to just sit back and listen

and enjoy a chocolate with me 

and soak up the sunlight

and forget about the gun.

Anyway.  I won't indulge too much 

in my "last wish" thoughts,

because I'd much rather go about the business of living,

because oh how special it feels 

to be alive, and free.

  and to know it.

yes, to know it.

Just close your eyes and listen to this.

Turn it up.

 

It's that feeling you get when something is so damn wonderful,

and Rachmaninoff's Vocalise 

makes me feel like I'm lifting up out of my body.

Some sopranos I have seen singing this 

put their hand

near their clavicle

almost as if to keep their bodies on the ground

to keep from being lifted up by their own voices

because the momentum is so powerful.

It's just one vowel, sung over and over and over.

 

The music soars and comes back 

and soars again. 

I can't imagine any better piece of music

to leave the body

or to leave this world for another,

if one had to go.

Meanwhile

I grip the arms of my chair

to keep from flying away.