I recently met a German conductor who told me the story of an opera. What I remembered of his telling was that it was about princess who is rescued (from what, I could not recall) by a man who asks her to marry him on the condition that she vows to never ask his name or from whence he came. On their wedding night she breaks her vow and asks the question, forcing the knight to leave forever, returning to the castle of the holy grail.
Being a lover of myth and symbol I’ve been mining this story for some recognition of its meaning but I’ve found myself stuck in the literal, feeling I was missing key parts of the story. Why wouldn’t she be able to ask him where he’s from and what do he and the holy grail represent anyway? Not remembering its name, I ended up reading the story lines of countless Wagner operas until I found Lohengrin. It turns out that this nameless knight only existed in her dreams but, despite this, Elsa calls on him to defend her life when she is accused of murdering her brother who has gone missing. She acts entirely out of faith, trusting that her fantasy man will appear as, of course, he does, saving the day and popping the question with his special conditions.
I am a good sleeper but tonight, after snoozing soundly from only 11 to 12:30 I awoke to a clear understanding of Elsa’s arc. I absolutely love the unique clarity that seems to come only at the moment of waking. At the beginning of the story, we find Elsa in a place of uncertainty and peril but one in which she relies completely on a message from her soul. As so often happens in our real, non-operatic lives, Elsa begins to think her way into doubt and before long finds herself fearing the unknown origins of her savior, Lohengrin. It really makes no sense but it’s almost mind-boggling what we humans will do to our own lives simply to avoid not knowing. Who among us hasn’t experienced moments so perfect they feel pre-ordained. Moments where we find ourselves (possibly despite our selves) in exactly the right place at precisely the perfect moment only to think our way into the future and onto one of two paths of self sabotage: thinking we must forge ahead on the current path despite the soul’s red flags or, as Elsa did, thinking our way into fear and doubt.
So what was Elsa to DO once she found herself wracked with anxiety and fear about Lohengrin… about the unknown, really? I believe the way to weather these moments is to trace their emotions, stories, and doubts back into sensation. Simply giving our undivided attention to the sensations inside our mouths can be remarkably effective at snapping us back into the present and it is in the present moment that we reside in both the known and the unknown simultaneously - a space blissfully beyond thought. You will find that when fully in the present moment, no matter what you think is looming large, the vast majority of the time absolutely nothing bad is happening. The unknown, when not graciously invited, is like a vacuum that our narrative-loving minds fill with either escapist fantasies or dreaded possibilities, depending on our habits and disposition. Elsa began by narrating the unknown with a beautiful knight to rescue her and in fact, this is the reality that found her. She later allowed her fears to narrate a story of darkness in the unknown of Lohengrin’s origins and, by doing so, invited her own sad ending. My observations might lead you to believe I am advocating the power of positive thinking but no, instead of inviting flowery narratives and positive outcomes, I believe our true power is to be found in the much more difficult realm of not knowing.
It’s true that the opera ends by giving us a choice on how will we spin Elsa’s story: the sad one, in which we focus on the fact that Lohengrin must leave her forever, or the silver lining delivered when he breaks the spell that had turned her brother into a swan. But what if the story just is, like almost all the moments of our lives, neither happy nor sad? What if we choose to stay in the unknown of this moment, thereby holding space for limitless possibilities for Elsa and, in turn, for ourselves. Lohengrin is the call of our own soul, ever present but completely unknowable. It is not at all sad to know we each possess such powerful guidance but, of course, we fear its price. Reuniting with your own soul… what is it worth to you? Rumi said it beautifully:
I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.Now my love is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let’s buy it.
