Evlogía

“The nature and character of the world cannot be described properly without reference to something more. That something more has a nature that gives shape to the stories labeled as myths.... Indeed, even stories that would otherwise be labeled “true” and “real” (in the literal sense) have significance precisely in their mythic character.... What modernity labels as ‘fact’ is insufficient for human existence.”

- Father Stephen Freeman

“Stories are able to help us to become more whole, to become Named. And Naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos we see despite all the chaos.”

- Madeleine L'Engle

“What if, in the bent and twisted darkness of our broken world, beauty is God’s theodicy? What if God can speak in creation and song, story and vision the things words, in their frailty, cannot yet bear? What if God’s hand reaches out to us clothed in beauty, and by grasping and trusting it, we may learn to walk through the darkness in hope?”

- Sarah Clarkson

Program Notes

‍

To some, the spirit world is mythical nonsense, to others, an invisible possibility, and to still others, a palpable presence. Some claim to visit ancient shadows through the intervention of eccentric personalities, others experience grace through miracles, while still others struggle with spirits that haunt and disturb their lives. Many who are unaware of having any experience of the spirit world imagine it through yearning, prayer or liturgy. Living in the material world, we search for blessings that transform us — from poor, hungry, weeping and reviled to rich, satisfied, laughing and loved, hoping that these Evlogía (Blessings) will manifest God’s presence. In Orthodox Christianity, one aspires ultimately to union with God (Théosis), a union in which, paradoxically, individual identities are maintained and strengthened; individuals become their true selves, and their names are written in the Book of Life. We all seek freedom (Elefthería) from the darkness of this world, and hope to discover the meaning of the two deepest forms of love — Agápi, a passionate commitment to the well-being of another, and Storgí, a love that is unconditional, divine, perfect, never broken, even in the face of constant challenges or rejection. Possessing these, or even aspiring toward them, makes it possible for us to bless others.

As we come to grips with darkness, evil, and hatred, how do we reconcile ourselves to the fact that every thought, every being, every action – even those that we regard as dark or evil or hateful – is connected to God, is a part of the world created by God? And if we are Christians, how do we understand why some people were born to live in a pagan world, without the benefit of the relationship to God we have known? Is God’s presence in creation enough to connect them to God somehow? Does art make that connection possible? Is this what theologians mean when they refer to the “hidden Christ”? Can we find God even in the beauty of the poetry of a Marxist who seems to revel in chthonic “worship” and tells us to embrace a universe in which our own individual identity is erased?

This album is about all God’s blessings – especially the puzzling ones – and about all those questions. It begins with the setting of a poem about the universal aspiration for transcendence, seeking union with all creation (“una integridad generosa”) depicted in Pablo Neruda’s poem, Demasiados nombres.

The second track explores the Greek pagan spirit world, where encounters with immortals can be risky. Adventurers with a guide to direct them might be drawn to converse with the playful and benign water sprites, explored in Conversating Sprites. Interactions with such spirits are fleeting, but the ephemeral quality makes them all the more precious.

In the pagan world, identity and even memory were sometimes believed to be lost after death, as one merges into a nameless whole (similar in some respects to the vision in Demasiados nombres), after one travels the dark waters of the five rivers of Hades (Styx, Lethe, Acheron, Phlegthon, and Cocytus), the waters which inspire Styx and Stones. At that journey’s end, what have we become? Catatonics? Or perhaps, vapid clowns?

Perhaps some spirits have their own reasons to visit us, sometimes with a dark purpose. Sotiría imagines the late rebetiko singer, Sotiria Bellou (a victim of spousal abuse) as an angel of death, avenging a woman murdered by her husband.

Mystics claim to traverse the space between the living and the dead. Some offer to do so for a price, as does one imagined resident of Nafplion, Greece in To Mayicó tou Bourtzi (The Magic of Bourtzi).

King of Heart is about the unique relationship between God and Man introduced by Judaism. This piece draws from various psalms to consider King David’s conception of a personal relationship between God and Man, one based on emotional devotion, and a yearning for forgiveness, which can only be conveyed by the songs he creates.

The last nine pieces present various perspectives on that relationship, beginning with Blessed, in which Jesus offers, in his Sermon on the Plain, rewards in heaven for the virtuous who suffer in this world.

The first of four poems by Orthodox Christian poet, Michael Haldas, is an epic description of the lifelong journey to find the right path (Climbing Ladders).

Two aspects of love are explored in Agápi and Storgí.

Tracks 11-14 confront the dark side of human struggles. Haldas’s poem, Blood, Blood is about his own experience of suicide’s effect on those left behind. His poem, Deliverance, considers the challenge of helping loved ones in need to find God.

Out of Reach explores the yearning for divine beauty but being unable to grasp it.  

The Dark Light of the Soul concerns the internal struggle with the darkness within us.

The end of life’s journey is the subject of the final piece, inspired by the hope of freedom (Elefthería) from the struggles of this world.

Together, these 15 pieces celebrate the epic journey of mankind’s yearning to connect with God. They reflect the understanding that God gives our lives purpose, and exemplify the unique role music can play to connect us with spiritual reality.

Three of the instrumental pieces (To Mayicó tou Bourtzi, Blessed, and Agápi) have lyrics (reprinted below), but here I decided to omit them and let only the instruments speak.

I thank all the performers and engineers whose art and encouragement made this album possible, and especially my friend, the great oud player, Ara Dinkjian, who generously contributed his original taksim to the beginning of To Mayicó tou Bourtzi.

Charles Calomiris

Pano Hora, Colorado

‍

Lyrics

Demasiados nombres (Poem by Pablo Neruda).

Available at https://spanishpoems.blogspot.com

Το μαγικό του Μπούρτζι

(Lyrics by Charles Calomiris, Angelo Labousis and Marcus Tompros, not sung)

‍
Παράτα τα όλα. Stop everything.

Δες κάτι φοβερό. Come see an awesome sight.

Κοίτα πώς αντανακλούν Look at the reflection

τα φώτα στο κάστρο. Of the lights on the castle.

Κάτσε μαζί μου φίλε. Sit with me, friend.

Άραξε μια στιγμή. Let go and relax for a moment.

Να μάθεις το μαγικό Learn of the magic world

που ανάβει το Μπούρτζι. Bourtzi can open for you.

Μόνο ζητώ ένα λεπτό I only ask a minute

να σκέφτομαι το παρελθόν. To envision the past.

Χρειάζομαι μόνο ένα λεπτό, I only need a minute,

και, για δύναμη, ένα πιοτό. And, for strength, perhaps a drink.

Τί σκέφτηκαν οι ναυτικοί What were the sailors thinking

που φύλαγαν το Μπούρτζι Who guarded Bourtzi

όταν εξερράγη το Παλαμήδι When Palamidi exploded

και είδαν την μοίρα τους πικρή; And they saw their doom unfolding?

Βάλε να πιώ για να σου πω. Pour me a drink and I’ll tell you.

Κάτι πιο δυνατό Something stronger

και από όλα θα σε δείξω. And I will show you everything.

Και τον Αγαμέμνονα θα δεις, You’ll see Agamemnon,

και τον Κολοκοτρώνη, And Kolokotronis,

και άλλους Αργίτες από παλιά And other Argives from long ago

που βρήκαν μια πικρή μοίρα. Who found a bitter fate.

Βάλε καλέ να πιώ Pour me a drink, friend,

τα πιοτά σου πιο παλιά, From your older stock,

στην έκσταση να βρω So I can find the ecstatic vision

φαντάσματα βενετσιάνικα. Of Venetian ghosts.

Τώρα τα βλέπω και άκου τα κλάματα! Now I see them. Listen to the crying!

Πνίγονται όλοι στα βαθιά νερά. They all drown in the deep water.

Μόνο ζητώ ένα λεπτό I only ask a minute

να σε ξεναγήστο παρελθόν. To envision the past.

Χρειάζομαι μόνο ένα λεπτό, I only need a minute,

και, για δύναμη, ένα πιοτό. And, for strength, perhaps a drink.

Tο μυστικό το έχω στο μυαλό. The mysteries lie inside my head.

Βάλε μου να πιώ Give me a drink

και από όλα θα σε δείξω. And I will show you all of them.

Και τον Αγαμέμνονα θα δεις, You’ll see Agamemnon,

και τον Κολοκοτρώνη, And Kolokotronis,

και άλλους Αργίτες από παλιά And other Argives from long ago

που βρήκαν μια πικρή μοίρα. Who found a bitter fate.

‍

‍

Sotiria

(Lyrics by Charles Calomiris)

You’ve come tonight to have a good time.

Your heart’s light, in a dancing mood. What will you find?

The night is young, leave the past behind.

Take a chance to meet someone who’s kind.

‍

Unless you’ve something to hide

So dark that we cannot pretend

To miss the lies your smiles try to disguise,

To get away with murdering my friend.

‍

After killing her, you sadly say

She found someone with whom she ran away.

Then you buried her in an unmarked grave.

Serves her right not knowing how to behave.

‍

Now you dare come to my house to celebrate disposing of your spouse.

But tonight it’s not your turn to play. The time has finally come for you to pay.

‍

I still see her body sinking, warm blood flowing, darkly streaming

In the parched grey dirt while you looked at her stone-faced.

Her eyes desperate, searching yours for a sign of pity or love, not finding any trace.

Heaven looked on, in the moonless night as life left her face.

Heaven looked on, only heaven looked on, yes the dead looked on, her sad soul to embrace.

‍

Heaven looked on, in the moonless night as life left her face.

Heaven looked on, only heaven looked on, yes we all looked on, her to embrace.

I see her body sinking, warm blood flowing, darkly streaming

In the parched grey dirt while you looked on stone-faced.

Her eyes desperate, searching yours for a sign of pity or love, but not finding any trace.

Heaven looked on, in the moonless night as life left her face.

Heaven looked on, only heaven looked on, yes the dead looked on, her sad soul to embrace.

Heaven looked on, in the moonless night as life left her face.

Heaven looked on, only heaven looked on, yes we all looked on, her soul to embrace.

‍

No mercy did you show. No pity, no love.

You just looked on stone-faced.

‍

Now it’s you who are shaking with fear,

Looking to leave, but no matter where, you will still hear,

Just this song, your souvenir,

Till the devil finally makes everything clear.

‍

Into the car now, drive back to your place,

Probably just a bad dream, something you ate.

Once you’re home and have had some rest

You’ll soon be back to feeling your best.

‍

Yes, you dared come to my house to celebrate disposing of your spouse.

But tonight’s not your turn to play. The time has finally come for you to pay.

‍

I can see his body breaking, warm blood flowing, darkly streaming

In the parched grey dirt while I look at him stone-faced.

His eyes desperate, searching for a sign of pity or love, not finding any trace.

Devil looks on, in the moonless night as life leaves his face.

Devil looks on, just the devil looks on, yes the devil looks on, his damned soul to embrace.

Devil looks on, in the moonless night as the life leaves his face.

Devil looks on, just the devil looks on, yes the devil looks on, him to embrace.

‍

King of Heart

(Book of Psalms, passim)

Sing praises to the Lord, on the lyre and ten-stringed harp.

Sing to Him a new song. Sing to Him.

I cried out with my voice. He heard me from His holy hill.

They shall sing amidst the rocks. Sing beautifully with a shout.

Truly singing hymns, in the church, sing to You.

My mouth sings praise to You. My lips filled with rejoicing.

I will sing to the Lord all my life. I will sing of mercy and judgment.

Sing and understand without blame. I will sing of your power and rejoice.

The Lord heard the voice of my weeping.

My hands built a musical instrument. My fingers tuned a lyre.

Sing praises to the Lord on harp and lyre.

And who shall tell my Lord? The Lord Himself, he Himself, hears.

They shall sing amidst the rocks. Sing beautifully with a shout.

Truly singing hymns, in the church, sing to You.

My mouth sings praise to You. My lips filled with rejoicing.

I will sing to the Lord all my life. I will sing of mercy and judgment.

Sing and understand without blame. From my song my Lord reads what is in my heart.

The Lord heard the voice of my weeping. A broken heart He will not reject.

‍

Blessed

(Luke: 6, not sung)

Blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

Blessed are you that hunger now, for you shall be satisfied.

Blessed are you that weep, for you shall laugh.

Blessed are you when men hate you,

And when they exclude and revile you,

And cast out your name as evil on account of the Son of Man.

Rejoice in that day, rejoice and leap for joy.

Behold your reward in heaven is great.

‍

Agápi

(Lyrics by Charles Calomiris, not sung)

I wait to see your morning smile

As you lie next to me in our bed.

Your twinkling eyes will turn to me

As you curl up on me to rest your head.

‍

Climbing Ladders

(Poem by Michael Haldas)

Two ladders before me. Which one should I climb?

They both look the same. They both look sublime.

I stand on this mountain. They lead to the clouds.

I can’t see their tops; in mist covered shrouds.

‍

The man and the woman, suddenly appear.

They each beckon me, tell me “come here.”

“My ladder is best, the right one for you.”

“But you must choose now, which of the two.”

‍

They are side but side; I examine them each.

I sense there is something, both have to teach.

One made of steel and one made of wood;

I thought for a moment, and then understood.

‍

“I am sorry dear lady, I must choose the man’s.”

I grasped the steel one, with both of my hands.

The lady looked sad, and then bowed with grace.

The man just looked on, a proud look on his face.

‍

He gestured to me, to begin my ascent.

I started to climb, I felt deep content.

Rung after rung, I moved toward the sky.

I felt so empowered, though I didn’t know why.

‍

My muscles grew stronger; bursting with strength.

The ladder was long; but I’d master its length.

None now could stop me, almost to the summit.

I passed other climbers, I watched them all plummet.

‍

I laughed at each one, so weak in their weakness;

and fancied myself, to possess a uniqueness.

But then I felt tired, though so near the top.

I heard the man shout, “Come on! Don’t you stop!”

‍

I looked up and saw him, beyond the last rung.

Hand reaching out, my heart was then stung.

Something felt wrong, though I didn’t know what.

“Don’t take his hand” said a voice in my gut.

‍

“What is the matter?” the man said to me.

“Just take my hand!” He said with a plea.

I was about to reach out, and complete my ascension

But then felt a push; it was intervention.

‍

I heard the man laugh, when I let go.

I screamed as I hurtled, to what was below.

The man now at the bottom, mouth open wide.

He shouted and said, he would not be denied.

‍

His mouth grew and grew, a great and black pit.

Fangs and forked tongue, save me from it!

I felt myself snatched, from the snap of his jaw.

It was the fair lady! I looked on with awe.

‍

Tattered and broken, I fell at her feet.

She said there’s now someone, you’re ready to meet

“Climb now my ladder, be swift and be strong.”

“The one that you should have climbed all along.”

‍

At first I got splinters, my feet and my hands.

I bled on the rungs, I barely could stand.

The pain was so great, I thought I would faint.

Others surpassed me, I think they were saints.

‍

Their clothes changed from tatters, to robes of bright white.

I saw at the top, they entered a light.

But steady I climbed, my resolve did not wain,

To get to the top, despite all the pain.

‍

Just when I thought I couldn’t go on.

A gentle breeze blew, and the pain was now gone.

My wounds became healed, my clothes too transformed.

My heart beat with joy, I felt now reborn.

‍

I got to the top, and saw a new man.

The lady beside him, he held out both hands.

I held out my own, scarred but now healed.

I looked at his face, my truth was revealed.

‍

He said open your mouth, then jumped into me.

I saw with new eyes, the things I should see.

I walked into the light, and saw all the others.

They greeted me well, my sisters and brothers.

‍

My old life completed, this joyous reunion;

With all the others, my new life in communion.

This complete transformation, and final release;

Forever in union, and knowing true peace.

‍

Blood, Blood

(Shortened Version of the Poem by Michael Haldas)

Blood, blood, everywhere, humming softly in its own tongue

Strange, strange, I finally hear it, shut away from everyone

What, what, I do not know, what is it saying to me

Alive, alive, it’s so alive, speaking to what I can’t see

‍

Long, long, deep in the past, all the adults were crying

Father, father, please help me, this time I know I’m dying,

Sleep, sleep, escape to sleep, my head on the soft pillow

There, there, behind the wall, he’s through that darkened window

‍

Dead, dead, by his own choice, it did not go as planned

Gone, gone, this time for good, destroyed by his own hand

Died, died, long ago, many years before his death

Walk, Walk, the walking dead, living long without the breath

‍

Room, room, it’s filled with things, telling his final story

Red, red, covered in blood, this final task before me

You, you, she said to me, you must clean the room

Alone, alone, in this place, door shut, I’m in a tomb

‍

Four, four, things in the corner, what do they mean to me

See, see, what they reveal, blood covered dichotomy

Holy, Holy, a cross, a Bible, seeking some religion

Hell, Hell, pot pipe and Hustler, revealing his derision

‍

Deliverance

(Poem by Michael Haldas)

I see her face before me,

twisted in deep pain.

My heart swells with pity.

The tormenter is back again.

‍

I will never forget this image,

of a soul in agony.

One that’s suffered damage,

and needs to be set free.

‍

Epiphany then strikes me,

of what I’ve been doing wrong.

Sincere but incorrectly;

doing it for too long.

‍

The weapons that I used,

tools of the enemy.

They’re to be refused;

they’re not the remedy.

‍

The power I possess,

endowed by my Maker

It is given to me to bless.

It’s intrinsic to my nature.

‍

But I must be willing,

to go beyond the self.

To endure suffering;

to die to myself.

‍

From the world’s perspective,

this is sacrilege.

But it’s His directive.

It’s a privilege.

‍

The world does not understand,

this sacrificial love.

It’s power in my hands,

Grace granted from above.

‍

To love unconditionally,

and be a vehicle of grace.

Heal her spiritually,

Bring the light back to her face.

‍

The Dark Light of the Soul

(Excerpts from two Poems, The Dark Light of the Soul and The Journey, both by Michael Haldas)

‍

(From The Dark Light of the Soul)

I’ve had this darkness in me, ever since I was very young.

I learned how to be its friend, I speak its native tongue.

It never possessed me, I do not give it permission.

I never will allow it, to fulfill its true ambition….

The dark leads me to dark places, where I see too many things.

But yet I’m still surprised, how much light the darkness brings.

It’s the light I really want, so with the dark I contend.

I bend it to my will, because I transform it to my friend.

‍

(From The Journey)

Come with me and we will see the journey we all must take.

Shock and woe, through grief we grow.

But we think it’s a great mistake.

‍

Deepening grief drives disbelief, denying what is real.

Soul numbing pain makes us insane,

Because we don’t want to feel….

‍

Exhausted from feeling, finally want healing, at last we are naked and raw.

Though we still mourn, we are reborn, when receiving Love and Light’s call.