In my lifetime I might hear the last nightingale

These are not my words but those of Sam Lee, a British musician, historian, and mystic. I learned of Lee’s work through a colleague, Cathy Campbell who recently urged me to watch the video “The Nightingale’s Song.” She wants to know my reaction, hence this blog. She writes “I’m so stirred . . . I’m thinking about loons and their song[s] and our fractured relationships here in Canada and wondering about avenues for healing those relationships with the land, people of the land, our own histories.”

Always obedient to Cathy’s suggestions, and dutiful student of life and love that I am, I watched the film last night. All I can say it’s well worth thirty-six minutes of your time.

With others, I struggle to find ways to encourage a recovery of life’s enchantments, mysteries and miracles, a discovery of life deeper than and even apart from technology, grubby politics, and the ubiquitous global competitive spirit.

Lee summarizes the film in these words:

The voices of nightingales have lit up the forests of England at night every spring for thousands of years, inspiring generations of writers, artists, and musicians. But as climate change and development harm their habitats, nightingales may disappear from the country within the next fifty years. What would be forgotten if we no longer heard the call of this beloved bird? In The Nightingale’s Song, we meet Sam Lee, a folk singer who draws on an ancient lineage of traditional folk music as he joins this elusive bird in spontaneous song. Through his practice of devotion to the nightingale, Sam opens a pathway into a deepening relationship of care, stewardship, and love with these songbirds and the living world we share.

Certain phrases continue to inspire me: “In my lifetime I might hear the last nightingale.” Sobering for sure;  except who cares about a little bird that sings? Well Sam does, and I do. It’s he “canary in the mine” isn’t it? If one thing dies, so do others; and they don’t return. Should we have a funeral for the loss of biodiversity. Such a rite is called lament; the loss is real. Remember Joni Mitchell. “You pave paradise and put up a parking lot.” Right.

The nightingale is a bird “which creates calm and mindfulness, adoration, and love.” Who else, what else can live up to that claim?

As a sensitive kid, (not unlike the late Gerald Durrell) “nature taught me how to survive.” Nature is a place that “has no judgement—it just receives you.” If I have learned anything in my sixty-six years of living it is that nature is our best teacher, even beyond human company, even more than my Labradoodle, Juno. Sorry Juno.

As an artist, Sam Lee finds ways “to tell the story of the land and our relationship with it.” He wants us to

“Listen to the land and hear it in birdsong.” He wonders “at what point did we stop knowing about the nightingale” with whom we enjoy a “dual citizenship.”

Sam notices with sadness that traditional peoples and their music is fast sidelined by pop culture icons (though he does admire Michael Jackson). The voice of those at the edges of culture are often the most prophetic. The one who has ears, let them hear.

“Folksongs act for a map for the emotional landscape.” Sam’s mentor and teacher, Stanley, found traditional music and teachings a “representation of his place in the world.” I wonder how I might express my place in the world today? And you? Where do I, you, we all fit?

At one very poignant point in the film we see and hear Sam playing a song with the bird. At one point the Nightingale CHANGES KEY to adapt to Sam’s register. Holy modulation Batman. The bird next adjusts to his tempo and style. You can hear the conversation developing. “I honoured his song as he honoured mine.”

As an artist and believer in the arts, he knows that traditional music can “unlock a little bit of each person’s heart.” He wonders if his environmental advocacy should “be fighting the bigger battle. The real battle (however) is apathy.” Amen friend.

So back to Cathy Campbell’s question: “What did I think.” I think and feel the film, the idea, the artistic practice is brilliant, beautiful, and timely. Please, please, watch this film, and let me know what YOU think.

May the birdsong continue for and with us all.