In past blogs, I have mentioned my fascination with the concept of time – both chronological time and eternity. Chapter one of Mirror of the Soul reflects my beliefs about the nature of time. I believe that great art, music and literature have the power to transport us to other realms and give us glimpses of eternity or the infinite nature of God. Storytelling is timeless. I share several stories in the pages of my narrative because I believe stories communicate highly moral principles and thus allow the reader to examine his inner life or probe the depths of his consciousness. Silent contemplation reveals to us the mysteries of the universe. The story I share in chapter four of Mirror of the Soul is that of the water sprite Undine.

As a voluminous reader, I have always been predisposed to the non-fiction genre of books and had little use for fictitious myths. My interest in legend, however, was piqued when I fell in love with Carl Reinecke’s Sonata ‘Undine,’ op. 167 for flute and piano. I performed this piece on my first year graduate recital at the University of the Arts in 1993, and that recording has been re-mastered and will be released at a future date to accompany my new book. I was drawn to this music from the first time I heard it. As a flutist, I have always been a technical workhorse, and Reinecke’s masterpiece pairs the perfect balance of flute pyrotechnics with beautiful fluid melodies. I share this twenty-two year old performance because it is very close to my heart. It was one of the few times I have “gone into the zone” while playing a live concert, and the experience was absolute bliss. My concept of chronological time was temporarily suspended as I touched the light of God while playing on that stage. Listening to the recording transports me back to that day and reminds me that “eternity is the ‘now’ of time,” as St. Augustine suggested. Past, present and future literally overlap for me. The events three days prior to that recital served to intensify the process of “letting go and letting God” and facilitated my entrance into the “zone.”

I performed the Reinecke sonata on a Saturday afternoon following only three hours of rehearsal with my pianist. On Wednesday of that week, I hired a twenty-one-year- old Curtis student to accompany my juried graduate recital after experiencing irreconcilable artistic differences with my assigned staff pianist at the University of the Arts. I remember dropping off the piano scores at his condo Wednesday afternoon and then scheduling a ninety-minute rehearsal on Thursday and Friday of that week. The Reinecke piano part is one of the most difficult in the flute/piano repertoire, and this gifted pianist played it naturally and effortlessly. He exuded artistry of the highest caliber, so he made it easy for me to weave my flute line into the tapestry of the sound he created. As a twenty-two-year-old flutist who never performed a full, juried recital before, I was beyond nervous as Saturday afternoon approached. Graduate students were permitted five hours of rehearsal time with the staff pianist, and I had only rehearsed for three hours! The pressure overwhelmed me in the early afternoon, and I cried my eyes out before heading over to the hall to warm up. As I was playing some long-tones backstage, a friend of mine interrupted to inform me that a tour bus of kids from Canada had just filled every seat in the hall. Typically, a few family members and friends attended graduate recitals at UARTS, so the hall never filled, but, for whatever reason, these visitors to Philly were looking to hear a free recital on the Avenue of the Arts and chose mine! Rather than panic, I suddenly had a reason to laugh at all the absurdities of those three days. I suppose one could say I relaxed into the flow and played very well. The graduate coordinator informed me that I had played the best recital in his fifteen-year tenure at the school. After the performance, my pianist was hired as a new staff accompanist at UARTS– evidence to me of a divine plan in action!

It was only after selecting the music for this accompanying CD that I delved into the legend of Undine because I was unhappy with the synopses of her story I read online. The novel, Undine, which was written by Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué in 1811, inspired Carl Reinecke to compose his sonata. After reading this nineteenth-century literary work, I was astonished at the manner in which the story resonated with me. It suddenly became clear as to why I connected with this piece over two decades ago. The name Undine translates “wave,” and I have been researching sound waves for years. Vibrational frequencies are being used to entrain the human energy body and promote perfect health. I discuss this in chapter two of my book. As a child, my family vacationed every year at the Jersey shore, so I enjoyed the healing power of ocean waves, which resulted in the spiritual renewal of my body and soul. I have always loved the ocean, and, as a musician, sound waves are my livelihood!

Undine is a mermaid who lives in the ocean and longs for a soul. Her heartfelt desire is to look forward to life after physical death, as all mortals do. As a water sprite, she has dominion over the waters but lacks the power to obtain eternal life. She can, however, acquire a soul by marrying a human. She thus abandons her magical underwater home and “recovers her senses on dry land,” where she is raised by a fisherman and his wife who believe their daughter has drowned.

As an adult, Undine meets a knight with whom she falls in love. They marry, and she attains her soul. She explains to her beloved that she is a mermaid and offers to return to the ocean if he does not wish to remain faithful to her for eternity. He loves her and promises his eternal fidelity, knowing that his infidelity would result in his wife having to end his life. Undine soon realizes that having a soul is a tricky thing. She consults a priest who advises her to “attune her soul that it may harmonize with that of her wedded husband.” She accepts the advice of the priest, and, upon “attuning her soul,” experiences “angelic” behavior. They are happy as a couple until the knight meets a mortal woman and grows weary of the antics of Undine’s mermaid family. Undine agrees to return to the sea to please her husband but reminds him to remain faithful to their marriage vows or else he will die. At first, he is devastated by his wife’s loss, but in her absence, decides to marry a mortal. On his wedding day, Undine returns to give him the kiss of death, and he dies in her arms. As he is laid to rest, Undine kneels at his grave. When she finally stands up, a silver spring forms, which encircles her husband’s grave. The spring is “Undine embracing her husband in her loving arms” for eternity.

I adore this story because of its celebration of eternal commitment and its emphasis on abandoning self and attuning to the vibration of others in order to experience joy. Undine is of the water and is endowed with the magical powers of the water kingdom, but her heartfelt desire is to obtain eternal life. Her key to eternity is the love of a good man, and their union makes her better than she is as a mermaid alone. It is only through union with another that we come to know the self and experience the divinity within. As in my previous blog, I return to the greeting Namaste – “the divinity in me recognizes the divinity in you” – which is also reminiscent of Matthew 18:20: “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I AM in their midst.” I AM, of course, is the divine name present in every soul. In an era of infinite social media connections, we are bombarded with temptations of choosing better partners, but the perfect person does not exist. Popular culture sensationalizes the dissolution of unions and does not promote longevity in relationships. Relationship growth is a lifelong process, and its rewards are eternal. It is impossible to experience that growth so essential to our life’s purpose if we give up too soon on a committed union. That is the message of Undine. When I play Reinecke’s music, I am reminded of this message. The technical passages in the score mirror the “trickiness” of relationships, and the fluid melodic lines encourage us to relax into the flow of life as we unite with another. The composer might not have consciously intended for his music to be programmatic in nature or to perfectly reflect the story of this great work of literature, but the beauty of his melodies allows this flutist to feel the bliss of eternal love and commitment. Timelessness is magical.