I couldn’t say no to a last-minute invitation to The Phantom of the Opera – even though the show was just a few hours after I attended an entirely different type of auditory performance.
The first time I went to a singing bowls meditation, I felt really good – until a couple hours later, when I heard a man screaming at his toddler. As I wrote previously, the sound went right through me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Suffice it to say, I’m now a believer in the power of sound vibrations, even if I can’t explain it fully.
The singing bowls yesterday left me feeling good again. A cheerful, funky bunch of about forty of us laid on yoga mats with our heads towards the crystal bowls, eyes closed, absorbing their good vibrations.
Then, instead of retreating into quiet, like I had planned, we instead went to The Phantom. A cheerful, funky bunch of about three thousand of us sat in our cushioned seats with a giant chandelier over our heads, eyes open, absorbing entirely different kinds of vibrations.
Overly melodramatic rock music is one my guilty pleasures, so of course I was happy this was the show we got to see. And it was amazing. Our seats were doubly amazing – dead center, fourth row. After all the chakra opening during my day, I half expected to cry through the whole show, but only teared up a couple of times, despite the sound waves of emotion being pitched directly at me. I also jumped at every explosion, but I always do that. Trying to catalog the changes between this version and the one I saw years ago kept my mind busy. Somehow this production made the relationship between Christine, the Phantom, and Raoul, less nuanced. I don’t know what it was exactly. Maybe it just didn’t enforce my bias that Christine was meant to pursue her creativity and talent as much as I wanted because Raoul seemed so likable. Well, other than promising to protect her – which was a nice thought, but never a real possibility anyway – then insisting she go against her instincts to make his plan work.
Today I am feeling a definite lack of quiet. My surroundings are very serene, but inside my mind its another story. He’s there. The phantom of the opera.
Inside my chest – Christine. She’s there. Singing notes I can’t possibly hit.