e·piph·a·ny

noun, plural -nies.

1.

an appearance or manifestation, especially of a deity.

2.

a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.

6:50 AM. I walk past the bus stop, as I do every day at this time, on my way to begin my morning practice. Most days, I see a little old man there. He is usually wearing his flannel jacket, which hangs loosely on his tiny frame. His eyes have a look of hollowness, of lost-ness about them. And I often wonder what they have seen, what thoughts are buried in the recesses of his mind....what his story is. I don't know where he comes from or where he is going so early in the morning - but as I walk past, I smile and sometimes offer a simple, "Good morning" - though, my efforts are usually met with a blank stare.

But things can change in a moment.

Yesterday I left my apartment a few minutes early. As I paused to lock my door, I heard another door close and the elevator beginning its ascent up the 8 floors. I hurried down the hallway, hoping to catch it, and as I rounded the corner, I nearly stopped short.

There he was, getting ready to enter the elevator.

epiphany.

He lives in my building.

He lives on my floor.

How did I miss that in my 6 months in Baltimore?

But then, this morning, it happened. He spoke. A good morning. A comment about the weather. It was nothing major. But it was a step. Movement. Who knows where it will lead? Maybe nowhere. Maybe somewhere.

10:20 AM. It's Tuesday, which means at any moment, my friend Eric will waltz in the door to my "office" - wondering what delightful music I'm practicing today. I will have been in my office for 3 hours, and I will be ready for a little break. Sometimes he shows me music that he's been working on, sometimes he sightreads along with whatever I'm doing. Sometimes we just chat about life and missing the West Coast (he's from Portland).

I am in the middle of Strauss when the door bursts open. Here he is, right on time.

I've been at it for a good 30 minutes...the same piece...which we labored over in my lesson yesterday. It's just not coming. My sound is not good. I'm tensing up. And the frustration is not helping me to stay relaxed. My teacher thinks I move too much when I play...which is absolutely true. But if I think about remaining still, I tense up as well. It's a vicious cycle. One I've been stuck in since September.

I know the end result. I know the sound that I want to produce.

I know some of the things that will get me there. Good posture. Less movement. Relaxation.

But I don't know the first step.

Eric watches me for awhile. He points out the tension in my neck. The tension starts there, not in my arms.

"Try exhaling as you play that."

It takes a few tries, as I attempt to coordinate my breaths with my gestures.

epiphany.

My sound is different. I hear it immediately. My fingers are freer. It's almost an out-of-body experience. I'm not working so hard. It's easier.

this is right.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry or scream or dance.....whether to quit for the day and ride the high...or keep playing so I don't forget the sensation.

7:00 PM. I am rehearsing recital music with Alison. I apply my new-found technique to a different song, and I am amazed to find that creating sound feels effortless and free. I still have to fight to not return to the old way of doing things. This new way is right - but it is not habit yet. It will be a long time before it becomes that.

But Alison is encouraging.

"Live in the moment. Do it right this time. If you keep doing it right this time, you will be doing it right every time."

epiphany.

I love the dual-definition of this word. We use it to describe sudden insights - break-throughs, if you will. And yet, there is another layer to its meaning. It is a glimpse, an appearance, a manifestation of a deity. A flicker of divine comprehension. A glitter of the extraordinary, among the dust of the ordinary. A sunbeam of understanding piercing through the clouds of confusion and frustration.

And isn't this what we live for? The knowledge that there is more to life than the material world. The belief that the very moments of our lives are sacred gifts. The hope that we can stay still enough, attuned enough, eyes-wide-open enough to not miss the mini-manifestations, the every day incarnations of Christ.