Walking on roses

I’m taking a break from (university) essay writing to jot down my thoughts. Funny how, with the pressure of the assignment deadline next week, two sentences in I feel like writing this blog entry is taking an eternity. Yet no doubt the next few days will go by in a flash. Another flash: almost a month ago I celebrated the end of radiotherapy (the doctors say I should continue to feel its benefits over the coming month) and my birthday, who I share with a hero: Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart.

Another milestone: I got on a plane for the first time since September (I told you I'd aim for boring updates). Having completely lost track of time rambling through the streets of The Hague, my wife and I kind of ran into the man himself when we rediscovered the flat where about a quarter-century ago I first listened to classical music. That first piece was in all likelihood The Magic Flute. I think even at that young age I appreciated the lighthearted, child-like side of Mozart’s character.

A day back from The Hague and I went to see the opera here in London (I booked it months ago—fate or coincidence?), and this passage struck me:

‘Love is my guide --
She will strew the way with roses,
for roses are always found with thorns.
It will protect us on our way.
In a magic hour, my father
Cut it from the deepest roots
Of a thousand-year-old oak
Amid thunder, lightning—storm and rain.
Come, now, and play the flute!
It will guide us on the dread path’.

The subtler and often darker depth of his work became apparent. But always towering above it: the joy of the journey itself, of love, of time and the magic that we can make happen within it, even if only for ‘an hour’ (like Mozart did, writing The Magic Flute just before he died, pretty much at my age). And hearteningly, we stand on the shoulders of giants and can use ingredients alchemised during a ‘thousand’ years. It reminds me of the veggie elixir I am sipping as I write; devotedly crafted by my mother after mentoring from my father, who learned the mystical recipe from my grandmother. As my mother is due to return to Colombia, it will soon be time for me to step up to the blender. In Papageno’s words… gulp! In Tamino’s words: play on!!

---