My non-fiction book, Bava’s Gift: Awakening to the Impossible, began as a simple, almost whimsical experiment that unfolded into a sequence of events which challenged my assumptions about the world. As I followed the “thread”— a trail of marbles that I took to be the telltale sign of a recently deceased friend — I found myself entering a landscape where faith and reason do not always partner amicably.
 
As a survivor of early childhood abuse, my own story has been shaped by adversity and loss. This echoes the conflict between faith and reason. To this day I work to resolve it. Writing can be healing. But on any given day it remains a struggle which outlook wins: the transformational insights that come from writing and reflection or the doubt and remorse of a fractured youth.

In Zen there is a word: Mu. I don’t formally practice Zen but I appreciate the concept. It is often translated as “nothing.” The intention, however, is to not simply negate but release. Rather than answering a question, it serves to undo the structure of the question, dissolving the framework of true and false, self and other, life and death. I do not approach Mu as doctrine, but as an orientation. The concept offers a calmer space in which one can feel less burdened by the appearance of things, when expectations don’t go our way, and when there are no easy answers.

In music, there is something else to be discovered: a higher order of sound, rhythm, logic and beauty. Writing music often feels to me like reaching into a rushing spring and trying to catch a trace of its essence. At best, I can manage to hold onto a few moments. For me, no one achieved this better than Mozart. Hearing his music as a child saved my life. It revealed something beyond the harsh confines of my familial world.

I believe we each have a tone-line — our personal North Star. When it enters our awareness we can use it to raise ourselves to a higher register. One afternoon while observing a clear spring in a local park I saw a long, thin, silver reflection that cut through the surface boundary of the water like a bright compass needle. A clear spring is the perfect mirror for the sky, clouds, trees and changing light. Perhaps it was just the reflection of the edge of a cloud. But it felt like a special moment. “May the road rise up to meet you,” goes the Irish blessing. When we find the path life feels good and meaningful. When we stray, we suffer.

The Further Shores of Knowing is a musical for which I composed the music, wrote the lyrics, and co-wrote the book with Jack Engstrom.  At its heart is the possibility of a refuge—a return to peace, clarity, and light. The “Further Shores” is a transcendent place where being and imagination awaken, and where a sense of wonder dissolves the boundaries of self. In the musical, the hero’s cherished object is a staff with a crystal at the end that keeps him oriented to Polaris, and which ultimately helps save the world from darkness.

In this very anxious time there’s not much relief or satisfaction. It’s easy to become cynical when no one seems to be paying much attention and our best intentions and highest ideals feel trampled on. But then the unexpected happens. A child with big bright eyes smiles back. A dog barks hello. A neighbor drops off some tomatoes from their garden. Maybe the world won’t end today. Let me do my part to keep it going.