Welcome to Mondays With Moira. An erstwhile tradition from 2022 that I’m resurrecting as a tool to explore creativity and to encourage ‘letting go’ of a piece rather than attempt perfection.
Each Monday (or more like….selected Mondays), I’ll upload a video- an acoustic version of one of my metal songs, a classical piece for piano and/or voice, a reading of a poem (mine or that of a well-loved poet), or a pseudo-improvisational exploration of something that’s in my usual repertoire.
I’ve had terrible writer’s block. A deluge of thoughts daily, but no clarity. The paths in my consciousness are mangled. Under construction. I’ve made some significant breakthroughs in self-discovery as I journey through a period of total sobriety, but the edges are sharp and the keyboard stings to the touch.
On top of that, I’ve been immersed in one of the busiest times of year at my day job and have yet again managed to injure myself. The stress of continuing to do a good job, while being unable to walk, worrying that I’ll never run or hike again, worrying about being physically and vocally prepared for my summer tour, AND terrified I won’t lose the weight I want to lose beforehand….are stressors that no one else really wants to hear about. Nor should they care. We all have our own burdens, baggage of the quotidien and the weight of the extraordinary.
Why do I decide to share these woes? I’m not sure. An innate Millennial urge, I guess.
But. The lesson? I guess? Every day I try to resurrect a sense of purpose and energy and do what I’ve always done: keep fighting. Saturday night, I found myself in a dark and empty sanctuary, so I pulled out a new(er) Hildegard piece and recorded a single run-through. O viriditas digiti Dei. A hymn of wonder to nature, to greenness. A hymn of praise to the divinity found in The Green.
Hildegard’s concept of Viriditas is one that struck me to my core. And as I lie with injury elevated, watching swaying blooms out of my window, it feels bittersweet. The redbuds and dogwoods tell me that all is not lost, but they remain out of reach. The nervously neon sprouts atop the trees, they hum and whisper.
In light of my recent injury, I spoke with my primary doctor and we’ve discovered that I might possibly have a connective tissue disorder. This will put a damper on two of the things in this life that give me greatest joy and have at times literally saved my life with their therapeutic powers. I might have to say goodbye to the trail. And I’m not ready to.
So, I sang in the dark and sang to the green. And didn’t care about multiple takes. I just let it happen. I decided to share this clip rather than keep it as a pedagogical tool for myself. And to layer it atop various phone videos I’ve taken in my beloved Appalachian forests. Some of these places were completely destroyed by Helene, so this time capsule is even more bittersweet. A short tour of the hundreds of magical moments I’ve experienced in the Green.
R. O fresh viridity of God’s creative finger,
in which God planted his green vineyard
that glistens in the heights, a lofty pillar:
R. How glorious you are as you prepare for God!
V. And O, the mountain’s height!
O never shall you be laid low
when God marks the difference—
no, you stand yet afar, an exile,
but not ensnared by that brigand’s power
who snatches after you.
R. How glorious you are as you prepare for God!
Glory be to the Father
and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit.
R. How glorious you are as you prepare for God!-translation by Nathaniel Campbell
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