Smart Sarabande

Alright, so I attended a harp concert this evening. It was illuminating I think - well, at the very least, jarring. Not the music. That was undoubtedly (on the whole) beautiful. The dissonance of preconceptions and reality, however, was a disjunction I felt keenly. We walked into the concert a few minutes late, and stood in the back. A harpist sat in spotlight, blonde and beautiful and bold and serene. She was playing a "Sarabande" and I think I rather enjoy harp-playing from a standing vantage-point. It was dizzying and sporific yet altogether awakening - standing while being moved. She finished, after some tricky technical string twanging and ticking, as well as what I recognized as deliciously harpsichordial (obvious, yes, but really the one thing I was able to relate it to) double stops. We grabbed a program and found some seats. We examined the program, and realized that the soloist who had just finished was Elizabeth Smart. It was eerie. After feeling strangely connected to her throughout her abduction, it was disconcerting to watch her in concert. And to hear such gorgeous music perpetrated by someone who undoubtedly has experienced heartwrenching pain - which is understandable, yes, but nonetheless made listening an event tainted with a sickening sort of knowledge - an unwanted, unwarranted glimpse into that broken glass of a window to a soul. That's what was jarring about the whole thing. Afterwards, while walking out, we passed by her - less than five or so feet away. Her father and sister were talking with her - both of whom I recognized from televised interviews. On the whole, it was a semi-enriching experience, to see her happy and healthy, both filially and physically. But the other part of that semi- is evocative. Thought/emotion-provoking. Sad, sweet, and sort of scary.