MY FIRST AROUSAL

 First Arousal

Written by

Julieann Castro Nordstrom (c)

I clearly remember the day Mrs. Fisher invited me to the symphony. Her daughter Sandy was a younger friend of mine and they were our neighbors. When I was over at Sandy's I enjoyed listening to the unusual music her mom played on the hi-fi. I asked Mrs. Fisher what the music was called and she said "classical." She showed me the album cover that showed the musicians with their instruments arrayed across a stage. They were so beautiful and elegant

A few weeks later Mrs. Fisher asked if I would like to go to the symphony with her and Sandy. She had cleared it with my mother, since I was only 10 years old. Words could not describe my excitement and joy.  I had never been to a real symphony.

Mrs. Fisher told me the conductor was famous. His name was Leonard Bernstein. She asked me if I had ever heard of him. Feeling stupid, I said "no". She said that he wrote and composed the music for West Side Story. I got excited because I had seen this movie and I thought the story and music was so romantic. I told her that I would love to go and I thanked her for asking me. I hung up and couldn't wait for Thursday night to come.

The Fishers were from Baltimore and they were a stunning couple. He was very handsome and she was very beautiful and sophisticated. They had three children and I was over at their house at every opportunity. There was a strong life force in their home. I admired Mrs. Fisher and wanted to be like her when I grew up. Not only was she beautiful, she also had a mysterious quality about her. I know now that she was a sensuous woman.

The big night finally came and I walked over to their house thirty minutes early because I couldn't wait any longer. I wore my pink dress that I wore to church and it had my prettiest petticoat under it. Mother had placed her expensive pearl necklace on my neck because it was such an important occasion, my first exposure to the arts. I wore soft white gloves. My long blonde hair was braided in twin tails down my back, tiny pink ribbons binding the ends. I felt very pretty and special and I was going to the symphony.

We drove to the Ft. Lauderdale music hall and Mrs. Fisher placed my ticket into my white-gloved hand. I held my head tall as the ticket man took my ticket and returned the stub to me. Later I would put it in my memory book.

I felt proud to be walking next to Mrs. Fisher; sometimes I really wished that she were my mother. People nodded and spoke to her, commenting on her two precious girls as we walked down the aisle following the woman who searched for our seats with a flashlight.

I was thrilled to see where our seats were. They were up front.  I had never been close to a famous person like Leonard Bernstein and I was wondering what it would feel like.  I had not seen his picture, but I imagined him to be a serious looking man.

Suddenly, the lights inside the theater flickered. Mrs. Fisher leaned over Sandy and softly whispered that the flickering meant that you had three minutes to get to your seat. They didn't allow anyone to walk in after that!

The lights dimmed, and as they did, the audience hushed. The anticipation was building inside of me and I clutched the sides of my chair. Everything went dark and it was so quiet you could hear a pen drop. I was totally unprepared for what followed. It was like being in church before the preacher prays. The heavy burgundy curtains started separating, and the huge orchestra appeared. It was four times bigger than I thought it would be. It looked like a black and white rainbow with rows and rows of people in dresses and tuxedos. All the musicians looked very intelligent and composed. These were the finest musicians in South Florida.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone or something. Suddenly, a man appeared, and began walking toward us from the back of the orchestra. The audience began a thunderous applause. I clapped enthusiastically but not very loudly because I was wearing soft white gloves.

As he got closer to the podium, I had this strange feeling in my stomach. People clapped louder. There were whistles from the crowd. The man commanded my attention. It felt like he looked briefly at me when he gazed upon the audience. He had white hair, longer than other men. Of course he was an artist and therefore looked different.  My father would have said his hair was too long but I thought it looked elegant. I was spellbound.

He was slim, not very tall and he had a large nose. Something about him sent chills up my spine. He had this wonderful presence about him. He was magnificent looking, important and powerful. My eyes were fixed on him and the powerful energy he transmitted. He bowed deep and then stood as he threw his white hair back, flashing a smile that electrified me. I felt as if the pink ribbons at the end of my braids would unravel and fall off.

Then he stepped up to the podium and turned his back to us. Mrs. Fisher told us in the car to stop clapping when he did this, and even if the music stops not to clap until he turned around again. She said it was very bad to break this rule and I wanted us to do this right. When everyone stopped clapping immediately, I felt like a grown up because I knew exactly what to do.

Next he picked up his baton and tapped it a couple of times.  The musicians sat up straight. Tension permeated the air. They were totally focused on him as if he were the king of a country. He calmly looked around at each section. I thought at first they looked afraid of him, but realized that they gazed at him with respect. It reminded me of the sailors on the naval base when they stood and saluted my father. He was a Captain.

This man, Leonard Bernstein, seemed like a General and was about to lead his troops. I felt afraid for the musicians because I knew that they would hate to make a mistake in front of him. I would be terrified if I were one of them. Yet I felt excited for them too. There was something so confident about him. He acted like he knew precisely what he was doing.

Mr. Bernstein was awfully somber and so, so handsome. He put his hands up and waited a second before moving his baton slightly. Then the music began to emerge. I felt like a spell was being cast over me. My insides experienced the first of many emotions I would feel before the symphony would end that night. I have had intense feelings when riding the horses at the riding academy, but this was a different kind of intensity.  This was not all at once, it was gradual.

His movements were slow at first. He started waving his wand gently through the air as if trying to stir some spirits up like one of the fairy godmothers in Sleeping Beauty. It felt like he was gathering up forces to cast a spell. It was hypnotic watching his entire body move in its dance with his baton, the music growing, spinning its spell around me. I lost any awareness that I was surrounded by thousands of people. I started to feel like I was the only one.

My soul started to awaken and respond to the beauty of the notes. I had a little fear that it captured me so quickly.  I sat up straighter to gain some control. My ancestors are Swedish and not very emotional, kind of stoic. My father told me to always control myself whenever I got too excited, something hard to do.  I am emotional. I was also told I was too sensitive, too dramatic, or too happy. So, I struggled to keep my focus. My father made it clear that it was shameful not to do so.

I wanted to close my eyes. I knew I would feel it stronger, but was too inhibited. What would people think if I closed my eyes? They would think I was weird. So I kept my eyes on Mr. Bernstein. Sometimes he had his eyes closed and I was afraid that he would forget to conduct the orchestra. But even with his eyes closed, his body and arms kept moving and the music matched his movements.

I could not take my eyes off Mr. Bernstein. My body felt warm, then hot as I watched him conduct with explosive passion. His head was thrown around with total abandon and his long white hair became wild. He became more physical and animated. He dissolved before my very eyes into the movement of the notes.  He played me like an instrument, and I felt alone doing a primal act that was not proper. The amazing thing is that he didn't seem to care how he was perceived moving in front of his orchestra or audience. He just didn't care how exaggerated his movements were. I remained spellbound by his intensity, passion and absence of shame.

 



The way he moved his arms and his body had a great effect on the orchestra and it was like he was pulling the notes to their limits. His boldness and his courage made the notes leap stronger by the second. I wanted to turn away from looking at him as if I were naughty by looking at such a private display of emotions.

 He was so sleek, so in control. So out of control. He would surrender and conquer, surrender and conquer. I surrendered all my control, as I let go of the arms of the chair and quickly pulled my white gloves off. It was getting too hot. He was possessed, absolutely possessed with passion. All emotions were coming out of him...anger, elation, agony, joy, suffering and ecstasy. I rode this emotional roller coaster and could hardly contain myself. I quit fighting the storm that was growing inside of me like a tornado. I started to enjoy the ecstasy of the feelings and let their currents carry me. I felt lost and forgot about that Mrs. Fisher was with me and never even looked over to see how she was feeling.

I could hardly sit still in my seat. I broke out in a sweat as I watched Mr. Bernstein expose his emotions in front of the world. He was dripping with sweat. He was totally abandoned. He was extreme. He was powerful. He was consumed. I was consumed.

The control he had was so fierce. It was electrifying, shocking, exaggerated. He was spectacular! He made the musicians play with all their splendor. I realized that this man could make a storm and the lightning to hit your soul. Then with his movements and his extended arms, he could make the storm stop and cause a gentle, fragrant breeze to blow across you, or make everything still like the eye of a hurricane. He made the wind of my emotions blow through my spirit. I had to put my hand over my mouth to silence myself. I was panting just like I did when I would race my brother home when the dinner bell rang.

I was reeling, watching him and listening to the music. He stripped me of my inhibitions. My soul started releasing itself and I felt like thousands of butterflies were flying inside of me. I felt something mysterious. Tears ran down my face as the perspiration ran down his.

Joy had erupted inside of me. Leonard Bernstein was the embodiment of every emotion I had ever known. I was at his mercy. I wanted to worship him for making me feel this way. I wanted to scream. I wanted to surrender everything to this music and to this man for this new awareness of these beautiful feelings.

This man seemed to control the universe. He controlled all. He was god. He could make the flowers burst from their buds. He could make liquid run down from my eyes and pour out of all my pores. When he calmed the tempo down, he looked weary and exhausted, as if he was going to stop soon. I needed him to stop. I couldn't take much more of this intensity. It exhausted me. I needed relief.

Yet when he got his second wind and burst forth with renewed vigor, my energy burst forth with him. Just one more time, I craved. Please, just one more time. I had to experience it one more time. I willed him to. I wanted to climb the mountain peak again. I was totally energized. I was ready.

Suddenly, it all stopped. The quiet was deafening. He still faced the orchestra, bent over, hair all askew. He stood, raised his head, pushed back his wet, white hair with his hands and slowly, turned to face us. He was drenched as if he'd been standing under a waterfall. He didn't care how he looked. I thought he looked beautiful. I wanted to run on stage and kneel in front of him and kiss his feet, but I just looked at him with awe. Then everyone jumped to their feet and I heard a thunderous roar, Bravo! Bravo!

I couldn't stand up. I felt like I had been electrocuted. I felt like I was coming out of anesthesia. What had just happened in the last hour and a half? Where was I? Mrs. Fisher pulled me to my feet as if I didn't know that I should be standing. I knew. I was just too weak. I felt like I had just disembarked from a carnival ride. My legs felt like rubber. I stood and weakly put my two hands together and clapped. I wanted to sit down again but then I wouldn't see him if I sat down.

 I was in an altered state. Mrs. Fisher was pulling my hand behind her and she was saying something to me, but I was too dazed to hear her. I kept turning my head back, trying to glimpse this god that owned me now. He was gone. I had left my white gloves behind.

As I sat in the back seat of Mrs. Fisher's car, I could hear Mrs. Fisher talking to Sandy who had fallen asleep during the concert. I was in my own little world thinking and trying to understand and figure out what had just happened to me? I was trying to compare it to another experience that might be similar, but no words defined it. I needed someone to explain to me what happened.

The feeling was sort of close to when I would swing on the big swings at the park. I would stand there in the sand with my feet back as far as possible and then jump into the seat for a good start. I would start pumping my legs back and forth as hard as I could until I got a good current of a rhythm that was natural. I couldn't lose my rhythm or it wouldn't work. I had to be patient and use all my muscles to work for me instead of against me. I learned another trick and that was breathing. It was important to know when to breathe.

No one could swing as high as me in my class, but my brother could. Some of my favorite times were when we competed to see who could get higher the fastest. We would stand there getting ready to launch off with our hands on the long chains and he would say one, two, and three... and we would both leap in the air at the same time. I learned that the first leap was crucial in winning. Pushing and pulling, at just the right moments was crucial. I had to put my whole self into it or I wouldn't win.

We got higher and higher, and then we would look at each other and great big smiles would break out on our faces and then we would try not to look frightened because the swing would start to shake from its foundation. We would get so high that we would be level with the top of the bar and it seemed like one more swing and we would go over. It was exhilarating and we wouldn't quit because each of us was so competitive.

We finally slowed down after my mother screamed at us that we were going to go over the top and kill ourselves. I sometimes wanted to feel what it would be like to go over the top. I wasn't afraid of death then. I was invincible. I tried for years and years to go over the top but it was impossible. My brother and I would slow down, and even though we were still pretty high, he or I would say, one, two, and with three we would let go of the chains and fly threw the air, with my mother screaming at the top of her lungs, and the one that landed on their feet won. Most of the time, we both landed. And then we would do it again and again unless my mother was there.

This experience tonight felt something like that but not exactly. This was like my spirit was in sync with the music and I was going higher and higher. I was soaring tonight and I finally went over the top. Years later, I realized the feelings that I had experienced that night are called passion.

Mrs. Fisher dropped me off at my house around 10:30 at night. I thanked her several times and she just smiled and said to go right to bed, I looked tired. I walked into the house and my mother asked me if I enjoyed my first symphony. I nodded yes. She said that I looked exhausted and considered that she shouldn't have let me go out on a school night.

She pulled my pink dress over my head and said; "It must have been hot in there because your dress is soaked with perspiration." She slipped a cool soft nighty over my head and left the room. Why didn't my mother ask me about the symphony, I wondered? If I had a daughter, I would sit down with her right away and ask her all about it.

I wanted to tell someone what I experienced, but none of my friends would understand. When I had excitedly told them that I was going to a symphony they looked at me strange and asked why. It was the most exciting night of my life. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone like Leonard Bernstein.

I dreamt about Mr. Bernstein that night, and for many nights to come. I saved all my money from baby-sitting and my allowance, and bought all his albums. I played them when I was happy. I played them when I was sad and hurt. I played them so I could be closer to God. They were my connection to the passion I felt that night.

Leonard Bernstein's' music, made me want to be a better person. It made me want more and more out of life and to be a better person. Sometimes I visualized him when I listened to his records and I remembered the many ways he moved when he was conducting. Little tornadoes spun around in my stomach again. Leonard Bernstein had awakened me and he left me suspended for years and years. When I swung really high on my swing, I came close to him.

Everything, compared to this experience became just ordinary. I made a conscious decision to seek out passionate people. I would never accept anything ordinary when there was a whole world out there with people who wouldn't accept ordinary either. I would find them somehow.

I started by reading every biography I could get my hands on about extraordinary people, who had made a passionate effort to impact this world. I had an innocent, pure mind and thought kindness was the essential ingredient to live this life in the manner I had chosen. Kindness was the note that soothed, and I would make every effort to produce these notes in the midst of the passion.

At this moment, I felt like a conductor, in command, ready to orchestrate.  Nothing coming my way would be less than a symphony.  Little did I know what loomed ahead could be so discordant. Noise came. It gathered, like a score of sour notes, bringing pain to challenge my innocent mind, and attempt to rob me of my desires.  At times it would become piercing, so loud and deafening, I would want to cover my ears. But, like Mr. Bernstein, I would find a way to bring forth meaning from the cacophony.

Not too long ago I came into the cottage where I now live, exhausted from a days work as a professional photographer.  I had been riding my horse Gypsy, galloping along side my subject, capturing their moments with my Nikon camera. I had worked hard to get those images. We leaped up hills, crossed streams, and I had to kick Gypsy into going through some thick brush, all to get to the edge of a big ridge to position myself for the perfect shot of my client riding across the meadow with his grandsons next to him, just like a scene in Legends of the Fall.

It was gorgeous that day. As usual, I did not consider the danger of working with a beast beneath me as I focused my camera. I was confidant that she would hold still so that I could let go of the reins, reload and get the pictures I wanted. While working, I would not think of the risks; however, I would later find myself drained from the effort. I could hardly walk to the bathroom to get to a long hot shower.

As I pulled my ponytail holder off and my hair went wild, I began questioning the value of my life, given the anonymity of the work I do. . In this condition, despair could come for a visit. It could spring upon me as it has in the past. I bent over the sink and rinsed my hot face and looked into the mirror. There I saw him. Leonard Bernstein.

Then it hit me. I have endured pain.  I may not be famous, but I am an artist, like him and just as important. I am responsible for the results of a photo shoot. I am the one controlling horses, people and, believe it or not, the weather, all to capture and share the essence my art brings forth from a moment. I am an original. I am intense. I am brilliant. I am powerful. I am a creator. I am god like. I orchestrate my life.

No longer will pain drown out the melody of my soul. I then resolved to continue my symphony with passion and boldness until the last note.

"In the beginning was the Note, and
the note was with God; and
whosoever can reach for that Note,
reach high, and bring it back to
us on earth...and to the extent
of his reach, partakes of the divine."

May all of you reach for the notes this New Year of 2007. My wish for you is to allow yourselves to become aroused, pick up your baton and orchestrate your life the way you want it, in a fresh, bold and and passion filled way. Hope you have a Juicy Happy New Year!!!!!

Copyright (C) 2006, Julie Ann Castro Nordstrom "Juicy"

A special thank you to my faithful life coach, therapist, friend, cheerleader, encourager, listener, and fellow artist...Tad Patterson... for being there through all the transitions and challenges, listening and helping me reach my notes and presenting this to the world in hope that it would awaken a soul that is dried up and looking for a sip of hope.