One spring, the irises in my backyard didn’t grow. I looked out every morning, hoping to see the little green shoots, but it turned to summer, and then to fall, and there were no irises. I cried (because they weren’t only flowers– they were memories, and they were my childhood), but, with days and distractions, moved on. The next spring, with the smell of lilacs in the air and the soft sunlight like the face of a pansy, I was reminded again of the irises. ‘And perhaps’, I thought, ‘the bulbs were asleep and dreaming last year, and they’ll wake again this year.’ But they slept on. And on, through three years, until one spring, a spring of great loss and sadness, they raised their heads again. What lessons was I meant to take from their resurrection? That there is some scrap of beauty in the burning? That there are blossoms we don’t see, preparing to show their faces brighter than ever? That, in the worst times, beautiful things rise again, brave and brilliant? That there is some greater resurrection (three years in the cold ground, three days in a cold tomb), that we all sleep eventually, but wake from those dreams into a brighter morning?
I’ve thought about all of them.
I’ve also thought about flowers. What beautiful things! And how eloquent. When you’re afraid to say something to those who have lost something, lost everything, because you can’t put it into words, you can’t say it perfectly, you can’t– flowers say “I love you”. The most beautiful people spend their lives giving flowers, so to speak. Giving more than just a passing word. Baking bread. Painting pictures. Penning personal poems. Singing songs. Washing windows. Holding hands.
There is a beautiful woman who gave flowers every moment of her life, and this is my attempt to follow her example. This is my bouquet of flowers. To all who have lost dreams; who have buried dreams, waiting for them to poke out of the ground once again; who have had dreams torn away from them; who long for sleep and dreams, for escape from the sometimes-terrible brightness of life; who have been told their dreams are not enough; who have been forced, against their will, to run away from once-beautiful dreams; who are reaching, unsupported and uncelebrated, towards beautiful dreams; these are the flowers that I can give. I grew them myself.
TO SLEEP– PERHAPS TO DREAM is now available to listen to on all platforms.
This New Years Day, after the first few moments of midnight cacophony, I felt something different than all the past years. I realized, as I heard people yelling "Happy New Year! It's 2024!", that 2023 was over. In the past, for good. I don't know if I've ever had any realization feel so beautiful and healing before. I started to cry, amid all the chaos.
After everyone else had gone inside, I stood alone by the street, staring as fireworks sparkled, and crying. Big girl crying, fat tears and watery breaths. My brother came to find me and asked if I was okay. He seemed surprised when I said (very tearily), "I'm just so happy," and then burst into full-blown sobs.
Never has anything been as hard for me as 2023 was, but it's over now. And, looking back, I can watch myself grow (which is quite entertaining, though heart-rending). And the future's going to be okay. I can look in the mirror and see no pain (as Agust D once said). There are brand new things ahead.
Here we are at the start of a new journey (this website). My goal here is to span space and time with creativity. But before that, let's start with some introductions.
My name is Esther Teichert, and I exist in a state of perpetual shock at the things that I and others can create. If you need me, chances are you can find me in my room crying under my bed at the sheer masterpiece that is Handel's Messiah. Or scribbling away at "just one more" portrait of someone who catches my eye. Or mumbling music under my breath as I type away, page after page of lyrics. Or walking down the street, tiny notebook and pencil in hand, dashing down a line of dialogue I thought of as people in passing cars give me odd looks. Or maybe I'm the one looking odd in a pair of rather unexpected sunglasses. My closet is a range from baggy gym shorts to prom dresses. My life is a mix of laid-back nothing and fire and sunlight. My mind is always whispering a prayer.
Express and share feelings of the heart and of heaven.
I live believing that there is a reason for what I do and where I am. I feel deeply, and I pour that into my music, so that one day someone else who feels deeply will find a song that speaks to them. I believe we all have the capacity to create beauty and share beauty, and I believe that beauty is loved by God.
Here on this website, I'm going to share some of my creations, and also some of my life. I'll write the things I feel, and share the things I write. I'll often write about music and art, and I'll share my music and art as well. And sometimes I'll write about life, and about the things that I learn through every day that I spend making mistakes and finding better ways. And sometimes I'll just share things that make me smile or laugh, and I hope that you can smile and laugh with me, and find ways to express your own feelings, as you share this space with me.