The Music of Musings

A child's hand, a simple melody, a dancing leaf....the little things. Do you ever think of how hard a path is and forget? Forget that the little things always are? In the middle, in the strife, in the cacophony of life? Remember now...remember the little things. A sparkling twinkle in someone's eye, a giggle, a cat's purr, the feel of fall sweaters. There's the smell of cinnamon, the taste of a sugar cookie, a gentle hug and enfolding.  Reach now, look for those things. They are there, in the pain, in the flight, in the darkest hours of midnight.  Someone said this to me earlier this past summer...look for the little things and I realized I had forgotten. Did you too? Forget that the little things are what matter most? The vision of a tree against the moonlight, the feel of grass under your palm, the sharp scent of autumn?  What about your child's sleepy good night, and sparkling water dripping from a leaf? Gentle warmth on a cold evening, hot ...

I feel through these dark spaces, wandering, not quite lost, one space and then another. I am afraid to place this weight where it will sink another. I tiptoe, lightly. I am reaching to express the few sunbeams that remain. Say the right thing, show the right thing. Flashing smiles and trite expression. Nothing else is welcome here. And in the dark, I feel myself. This ink that is so palpable. Sinking, swirling, those eddies of blue and midnight. I am alone. There is anger is some of this. Why can't anyone hold this but me? Why are so few able to walk these shady places with me? A few profess to only speak of positive things. I feel myself sneer at them, not exactly wishing them to understand. Am I just meant to travail alone? Does everyone travail alone? These inner workings, these midnight spaces. Life for me is exorbitantly heavy. I did not choose it so. There is loss and there is heartbreak in one destined for music, then losing her way; when she finds herself, now r...

I stand, still, quiet, waiting.  Midnight shadows across a grand space of entertainment, a stage set for this night. I am not alone. There are eight of us poised in these arched doors, an octagon stage, set, ready, just waiting in this deep blue glowing, poised for the house lights to rise.  And there's the opening, a long chorded tone, disembodied somewhere far beyond us. Blue and black shadows now, and eight arches appear, one darkened performer in each portal. I step forward as do each of us, onto this main stage, our motions choreographed seamlessly.  The walls around this stage are high. The stage itself comprised of turning gears, but glossy and smooth in deception. There will be no escaping this circled stage, this gauntlet of shifting levels and fantasy. The lights continue their ascent but after all, I am only aware of me. Illusion is the game here. The floor begins to move, made of many gears, like that of a clock, so smooth and shifting so suddenly....

This place is dark now. I hear the small sighs and knickers of those here with me. Fear is lessened in the deep silence of the night. And yet the smell is still rank, fear mixed with mud and mud mixed with the water of those caught and terrified beyond what they have known; beyond what I have known. I find my eyes heavy from exhaustion and a torpor that overcomes me after wild desperation. You might wonder what I mean. You may look at me thinking, what could I know but that which is expected. You might just see a wild horse, now captured, held by these bars. Maybe you're listening through the darkness. Maybe you are listening beyond this veil that shrouds our past. Maybe you can just make out our thick shapes and our noses that now press into bars and each other. You see progress, and you see management and protection of that which you have come to value above the wild and free. But do you see me? Do you see my soul and what I was? Let me whisper this story to you. Let me show...