Glimpses of Heaven

All of the arts enrich our lives, but I think only music can give us moments that transcend reality and show us a glimpse of the ethereal. Over the course of more than fourscore years I’ve experienced this a few times, unforgettable moments that made me vividly aware we are more than bones and sinew and even thought.

One such experience was during a performance of Verdi’s Messa da Requiem performed at Lincoln Center by the New York Philharmonic and Westminster College Choir. A section of the Dies Irae, “Tuba mirum spargens sonum” (“The trumpet, scattering a wondrous sound”). Verdi in his brilliance used a multitude of trumpets to depict that “wondrous sound.” In this performance, I have no idea how many trumpets we actually heard, but they were positioned throughout the room, on all sides of and I think even above the audience.

A single trumpet begins on a medium pitch. Sound is layered as more and more trumpets join, the volume and pitch rise to an almost unbearable intensity, timpani is added, and finally full orchestra and chorus break forth in a tidal wave of sound which is overwhelming and incredibly thrilling. At some point during this magnificent music, I felt myself elevated. I literally felt I was floating. I knew I was in a seat in what for me will always be Avery Fischer Hall … but I was also in another place, a place of such awesome and dazzling beauty I could only weep in wonderment.

I thought of that experience when I wrote my second novel, Eli’s Heart, in 2014. I’ve recently been revisiting the book, making a few changes by applying some of the skills I learn as I continue to write. With every art, whether visual, musical, or literary, we never stop learning and growing. American soprano Renée Fleming, one of the world’s most famous opera singers, recently referred to herself as a “work in progress.” I admired her even more on hearing that.

Eli Levin and Kristina Porter meet as young teens. They’re separated for three years, and then find their way back to each other and realize they want to spend their lives together. Music is what brought them into each other’s lives. Eli is a piano prodigy who was born with a serious congenital heart defect, and since this is the 1950s, they honestly don’t know how long his life might be. But however long they may have, they know music will be the heart of their love.

They’re both in college but on campuses some six hundred miles apart. They have a magical weekend together, make plans to marry in a year, and just before they have to go back to their separate lives, Eli plays piano one final time for Krissy. She sits on the piano bench with him as he plays, and they have this moment.

**

     Eli had been born with two things: a damaged heart and a heart filled with music. That was how Krissy saw him now, and how she would always think of him. He played for her, and she closed her eyes and opened herself up to the music he was making.

   Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G Minor began with repeated thick chords and heavy octave passages with large leaps up and down the keyboard, played rapidly. Eli pushed the tempo slightly; he loved doing that, especially with Rachmaninoff. The prelude had a grandeur and sweep to it, and demanded technical facility and strength. As with much of his music, Rachmaninoff slowed the tempo and introduced a beautiful melody, and the music became completely different, almost ethereal.

    As soon as Eli started the lyrical section, he felt some kind of shift in reality. The light became a soft glow, the air seemed different. He could feel his hands on the keys, he knew Krissy was touching him, but he felt he became a conduit for the music. It flowed through him and around him, opening up time and space. He continued to have a sense of transcendence through most of the section, and then the music gradually returned to the original idea, the sense of being somewhere else left him, and he was again sitting at Krissy’s piano playing Rachmaninoff for her.

     When he finished the piece, he sat quietly for a moment.  He turned to look at Krissy, and he could tell by the look of wonder on her face that she had made the journey with him. He asked softly, “Did you feel that?” Not wanting to speak, she nodded. They sat close together without feeling any need to talk, knowing what they had just experienced was remarkable.

Eli's Heart is available on Amazon in paperback and ebook
https://www.amazon.com/Elis-Heart-Carousel-Trilogy-Book-ebook/dp/B00LE5MNAK

Excerpt from "Eli's Heart"

A Musical Book Signing for Eli

     My book Eli’s Heart is in the forefront of my mind these days as I prepare to host a book signing at the Pocono Community Theater, a local movie house which is very “local author friendly.” The PCT is kind enough to allow me to use a very nice space for a musical presentation along with some brief readings from the book, and books will be available for purchase as well. Nice friends who are splendidly talented are performing some pieces which are an important part of the story. The event is scheduled for November 9, only about two weeks away.

     Eli Levin, my protagonist, is an unlikely hero but he is definitely a hero. Born with a life-threatening congenital heart defect, Eli is also a piano prodigy (though he hates the word and his close friends are careful not to use it). His entire life he struggles to live with both of these challenges, and he does this with humor and grace, though at times the stress overwhelms him. When he marries, his young wife is challenged to try to understand Eli and support him however she can through the difficult times, and rejoice with him during the good times.

     Music is a vital part of their life together, and one challenge for me was to describe the music that is particularly meaningful for them. Krissy and Eli meet as young teens and after some years apart, they are reunited when they are both college students. They reconnect first through letters and long-distance phone calls (it’s the nineteen fifties; no computers or cell phones), and finally see each other again at Christmas, just before her nineteenth birthday.

     They decide to marry, but they agree to wait a year. During the few days they spend together, Eli plays for Krissy; some is music she had heard him play years earlier, some pieces she is familiar with but hasn’t heard him play. One piece in particular she loves hearing as much as he loves playing is the Rachmaninoff Prelude in G Minor. Just before she leaves for the airport – she has to leave to return to her college before he goes back to his – she asks him to play it for her once more.

      I wanted to give them a “moment” before they part again. The time they spend together is either in Krissy’s home or in the home of Eli’s sister, who lives in the town in which Krissy had grown up. So while they are very much in love and are convinced they belong together, they haven’t yet made love. But it was important for them to have some affirmation of the strength of the bond they share.

     Rachmaninoff is probably my favorite composer, and I love the Prelude in G Minor as much as Krissy and Eli do. So when Eli is playing, Krissy is close to him, and they share an experience that makes the moment unforgettable for both of them.

Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G Minor began with repeated thick chords and heavy octave passages with large leaps up and down the keyboard, played rapidly. Eli pushed the tempo slightly; he loved doing that, especially with Rachmaninoff. The prelude had a grandeur and sweep to it, and demanded technical facility and strength. As with much of his music, Rachmaninoff slowed the tempo and introduced a beautiful melody, and the music became completely different, almost ethereal.

     As soon as Eli started the lyrical section something happened. He could feel his hands on the keys, he knew Krissy was touching him, but he felt he became a conduit for the music. It flowed through him and around him, opening up time and space. He continued to have a sense of transcendence through most of the section, and then the music gradually returned to the original idea, the sense of being somewhere else left him, and he was again sitting at Krissy’s piano playing Rachmaninoff for her.

     When he finished the piece he sat quietly for a moment. When he turned to look at Krissy, he could tell by the look of wonder on her face that she had made the journey with him. He asked softly, “Did you feel that?” Not wanting to speak, she nodded. They sat close together without feeling any need to talk, knowing what they had just experienced was remarkable.