So we went to see "Heima" (Hay-mah) tonight. The showing where Sigur Ros came and did an acoustic set first.
... and I'm stumped. As Ryan and I agreed, "There are no words."
But I do want to at least try and let you know why there are no words. It will be a vain attempt.
To give some history, as I realized about two thirds of the way through, this is exactly what God does. Right when I feel like I am at the brink, there is a breath, a beam, a whisper, and there is a reprieve. Why did I think that this time there would be none? There are times when you grieve so, your soul shifts to this place where no words, no touch, no bible verse, no hymn can possibly reach you. The only way I can explain it is a plane where you are completely desolate and alone, and, confronted by your maker you do battle - not with Him, but with yourself in light of Him. Like Jacob's wrestling with God. Yes He fought God, but I believe there was an aspect where (as he was confronted by his worst fears and insecurities) he was also wrestling with himself, and sometimes the only safe place to do that is in full sight and supervision of Him who understands and can break us best. This place is very private, and as much as we might crave the understanding of others, no one else can or should be able to understand it, as it is solely between you and God.
And like He did before in my life, as I was crying out to Him in only ways He could understand, He gave me this:
I was standing in line alone, in the cold, wondering. Life in this strange place, how far I was from home, how strange it was to be here, in this line, surrounded by strangers - interesting people, funny people, and my how different we all are. Girls trying too hard, guys feeling insecure but acting brave. The butchest looking man sucking on a lollipop. The people getting high in front of me in the line. Cussing, coolness, and the crazy man with his hands down the front of his pants. The awkward five street intersection where, if one thing went wrong, a chain reaction could occur and some car would go veering off up the curb to the corner where I sat and end this whole bizarre train of thought - but I didn't want it to end squashed against the wall of a vacuum cleaner store that sold dusty pink and purple dysons.
When we got inside there were ten identical women draped in gold fabric staring down at me from the walls, and I realized my fly had been down since I left home. I'm such a dork.
So,
You have to know something about Sigur Ros fans. They're insanely passionate. I don't know a one that isn't. I think that's because Sigur Ros' music resonates so deeply with people, it strikes chords deep in your psyche that unravels you. It, if you let it, reaches into you and draws you up to adventure through the most incredible aspects of your life, views you may have never seen in yourself, stunning to behold. I think that's what art is really supposed to do. Beauty, yes, Creativity, yes... but this emotional journey, this exploration of everything. The perfect, glorious reflection of deep, hidden and unspoken things... that is why when confronted by art at its best, there are no words. So, with music like that, what might the documentary hold? The room held its breath.
I had prepared myself for the fact that "Njósnavélin" wasn't in the film. That was ok, it had been a long time since I'd listened to it. For those of you that don't know, I can't listen to it very much because it is so special to R and I. It is "our" song. I walked down the isle to it.
But they start the acoustic set, which was just amazing... a piano (big black baby grand) a guitar, a bass guitar and a drum kit.
Stunning sound, and then the third song comes up.. and it's "Njósnavélin"... and hearing it, the warmth of the low drum sounds with the beautifully rustic sounds of the acoustic guitars, and the perfect twinkling of the piano and I just start weeping... weeping and weeping. I had tears dripping off my chin. It was beauty.
And then Jón says, in that remarkable Icelandic accent of his, "Tank you. We hop you like da film."
Some people laughed, in such a way as to say "Are you kidding? How could we not??"
And then it started. Let me just say, I can't "review" this film like a critic, although I defy any reasonable man to be able to find fault with it. It's so carefully and meticulously pieced together. I say "film" but it's actually a documentary, a bit of a look at when the band went back to Iceland and did free an unannounced shows for people all over their home country. Heima actually means "Home".
As a whole, it's a breathtaking experience. Breaking it down, it's music, photography, and film all brought together to lead you through an exquisite series of glimpses... Iceland is an incredible country.. the people incredible, the music incredible. There were so many fine details I did not want to close my eyes even to blink, for fear I would miss some glance or look or moment of stunning story-telling.
Because a picture really does speak a thousand words... So for every picture, the words - how many volumes of them after the film was done? - meant that there was nothing that could be said.
I could only shake my head, grateful (but not surprised) that as the end credits rolled, there was complete silence. Not one person moved.
(but then, when asked if I liked the film, I responded like the socially awkward idiot that I am and very sarcastically, "No, I hated it. I thought it was the worst film ever." Why oh why oh why do I do that to myself..? Magical one moment, moronic the next. My gracious husband tried to lend a hand to save me from myself, but with that one there was no going back. All in a silly attempt to try and fathom my own journey and protect myself from the recent rawness.)
Even so,
As I had said earlier, about two thirds of the way through, realizing that every cry I'd uttered had been answered I started weeping again. Oh! The love that would reach down to some dorky, awkward girl with her fly down, writhing in her own wretchedness and begging, in the midst of her despair, for something better... that is an amazing love... love that transcends. At the end of my struggle my wounds were soothed, my tears wiped away, my bruises bandaged, my hoarse voice calmed... and instead of chaos and ugliness, there was peace and beauty. He knew the perfect thing. The one thing that would reach me when nothing else could.
That love is worth everything.
I do not expect everyone who sees this will have the same experience I did. If you love Sigur Ros then you will probably find this film holds a special place in your heart. This experience was just God's gift to me - a respite in a life that is groaning for His return...
But what I do want to encourage you with is this:
Even if you feel like there are places in you that can't be reached, ask Him to reach them, because...
He loves you
He loves you
He loves you
3 comments:
Wow. Just wow.
Having only listened to Sigur Ros a few times and not having the same history I have yet to capture your passion. That being said, after reading your post I searched out and listened to Njósnavélin (the drums at the start are amazing), am listening to them on MySpace and reading up on their film - have you ever thought of going into marketing?
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