The Night Before

In 1992, shortly before my first trip to Zimbabwe, I went to the library and took out an album called "The Soul of Mbira." It was recorded by Paul Berliner, an ethnomusicologist from Northwestern University, and featured the traditional music of Zimbabwe, unembellished. Among the musicians was Ephat Mujuru, whose family is now my family. At Bernliner's suggestion, I had written to Ephat and asked if we could collaborate on a book of tales of the Shona people, and he had said yes. So I thought I should try to find out who this man was.

I put that album on the stereo in the late afternoon, and lay down on the living room floor on one of my big comfy pillows to have a listen. I had never heard anything like it. The first time through I didn't quite know what to make of it. The music was repetitive, hypnotic, and very, very strange. It just blew me away. I must have played it through three or four times, and each time I heard a little more, the most subtle variations, very contrapuntal. You have to pay attention to Shona music. It's not for cocktail parties.

I lay there until well after dark, just listening. And I remember thinking: nothing will ever be the same.

Of course, this is true every time we go to sleep: when we wake up, nothing will ever be the same. It's true every time we leave the house or get in the car or meet a new person or read a book or hire a new housekeeper. Or take a breath.

But we like to think we know what's going to happen. We like to think that the important people and things in our life will remain the same.

It's the night before my first chemotherapy infusion and blast of radiation, and I know I don't know what's going to happen. For now, that's just fine. My friend Kate, returned from Colombia, came over with a pot of white bean chili (exactly what I had planned to make for dinner). Laura T joined us and meditated with me for half an hour after Kate left. I'm about to jump in my nice new shower and get ready for whatever lies ahead.

Nothing will ever be the same. But then, nothing ever is.