Friday, December 21, 2012

Soul Song

It is brought home to me tonight that perhaps it isn't the meaning of the moment to know what you're doing. But to know where you are. What you are. We are connected to the vast web of creation...Life is a always will be. We will never discover all the secrets of the world. But that is its beauty, its right.
Tonight, I sat here wondering why I could not write, why, of all days when I have had a blessed day of family, I did not feel fulfilled with what I had done, or could do in my remaining time, before I go to my nightly rest. I rest so I may have strength for tomorrow. Yet I felt to direction, no purpose, and the words for my beloved, my story, eluded me. Then as I sat at my computer, it was then that the music that was playing finally settled in, and I listened.
Music, for me, is the thing that stirs me to words the most. I have often found it odd, how such sounds could have such profound understanding. A mystic speech, whispering low. And so as I listened, instead of in my novel, I took out my poetry book. It has been a friend over many years. Encoded in it, plain or symbolic, are bits of my life, things I rarely speak of. Music and writing understand.
So as the music whispered its understanding words, words filled my page, and with it came an understanding. Perhaps not an answer, but when do we ever find the whole of that? That is not the purpose. It is the message of hope. The knowledge that we are connected. And in that there is freedom.

Soul Song of Freedom

Like the tonal chords
Of a melody
Brought rippling from black and white keys
And the drawing breath
From stricken, vibrating strings
My spirit sings, in notes divine
In verses ancient, unchained by time.

When will I be free?
Yet, it seems
As I consider all creation before me
With all its wild seasons
Its dance of mystery
Somehow, perhaps I really am....

Even the sea
Crashes upon the shore
It too, making the music that my spirit sings
But upon it ships sail free,
And mankind speaks
Of its waves' wild, unbound liberty

And the wind,
Bound to roam the earth
Roars softly, as it rocks the mightiest trees
We have all heard that voice
It roars, it blasts--
Yet our soul believes
Its wandering spirit to be free

And the birds, whose voices
Give comfort, joy so sweet
They too are bound by air and space
Yet we believe
To better heights, their wings give place.

We all sing.
Our voices rise to heaven
It is here as my heart's soul rings
I realize this union,
This connection of Life
And something within remembers
Something of a beginning
A memory of paradise.
A memory of Heaven's celestial door.

We remember Heaven's Door
Glistening with the colors of dreams
Where flows
The essence of Life's unending stream.
All together, our reflections
Dance upon it
Hope dances upon it
And given our own songs,
We sing.

Elora Shore
Written on the first day of Winter

Heaven knows this might be changed in the future, but for now, it speaks what I, a mere fellow member of the human race, felt. I hope that it make give comfort to you also.
Goodnight, and may your dreams hold you 'til morning.

1 comment:

  1. Wow...that was great. As a musician, you had me from "stricken, vibrating strings." I know the feeling. I've often wondered what it would feel like to have a really intense experience with the holy spirit - speaking in tongues or something like that - but the closest I've ever felt, or ever will, I think, is when I'm listening to music, and I suddenly feel how very good God is and how beautiful the world despite its flaws. And then I usually start crying. It's rather embarrassing - in a good way. :) Andrew Peterson's CD Light for the Lost Boy has done it several times.