Drum beats are the rhythms of my heart.
Harp songs are the stories of my dreams.
Bells and chimes are the laughter in my life.
Violins play the songs of my sorrowful days.
Vocal melodies are the words swirling in my head.
Trumpet calls are my moments of revelation.
My life is music.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Beautiful Simplicity
I find beauty in the simplest of things.
The pile of freshly folded laundry on my mother's chair, the way the sun bounces off the desk on which my work is sitting. The glow of the computer in the middle of the night, as I type away on an unfinished essay. The water as it swirls down the drain, and the surprise of unexpected phone call or text.
The sound of paper shuffling or of fingers tapping away at a keyboard. The muffled sound of the television while my father catches up on the news.The padding of my dogs paws as she runs toward something that catches her eye. The scratch of a pencil on paper in a silent room.
The scents of oil pastels and paint. The smell of freshly cut wood takes me back to my carefree days I spent in woodworking at camp. The aroma of damp earth after a morning rain.The crisp air that shows winter for the first time. Even the sweat after a run seems pretty in its own way; it proves that I have accomplished something.
I wonder what everyone else finds beautiful
The pile of freshly folded laundry on my mother's chair, the way the sun bounces off the desk on which my work is sitting. The glow of the computer in the middle of the night, as I type away on an unfinished essay. The water as it swirls down the drain, and the surprise of unexpected phone call or text.
The sound of paper shuffling or of fingers tapping away at a keyboard. The muffled sound of the television while my father catches up on the news.The padding of my dogs paws as she runs toward something that catches her eye. The scratch of a pencil on paper in a silent room.
The scents of oil pastels and paint. The smell of freshly cut wood takes me back to my carefree days I spent in woodworking at camp. The aroma of damp earth after a morning rain.The crisp air that shows winter for the first time. Even the sweat after a run seems pretty in its own way; it proves that I have accomplished something.
I wonder what everyone else finds beautiful
Running
I keep running. Running from the pain, running from the fear, running from the unknown.
My heart pounds as if it will explode, but I can never stop. I am out of breath and the air is gone, but it is nothing compared to what I face if stop to breathe. My feet are raw from the ground beneath me, but if I stand still, the glass I am running on will just cut into me further. I will never stop.
I can hear it following me. That monster that has kept me from stopping will never stop either. It's claws feel so close to my skin; it seems to be getting closer. I run even faster, but nothing seems to keep it away. What did the monster look like again? I have been running for so long that I don't remember anymore. I cannot turn around to look, as that will only slow me down. Perhaps it is better not to remember.
The day blur together. Every day is the same chase. Every day is filled with the same overpowering fear. The land in front of me changes a little, but I only care what is right behind me. I look forward to the days when there is shade from the sun, and the nights when the wind is a little calmer. I can never really remember those days, however. All I know is the unforgiving desert in front of me.
Maybe what I am trying to escape from is not as bad as it seems. Maybe I could stand up to it. Maybe I could fight it off. Perhaps the pain is merely a bad dream. Perhaps the monster chasing me is only in my mind. But the fear is overwhelming.
So I keep running.
My heart pounds as if it will explode, but I can never stop. I am out of breath and the air is gone, but it is nothing compared to what I face if stop to breathe. My feet are raw from the ground beneath me, but if I stand still, the glass I am running on will just cut into me further. I will never stop.
I can hear it following me. That monster that has kept me from stopping will never stop either. It's claws feel so close to my skin; it seems to be getting closer. I run even faster, but nothing seems to keep it away. What did the monster look like again? I have been running for so long that I don't remember anymore. I cannot turn around to look, as that will only slow me down. Perhaps it is better not to remember.
The day blur together. Every day is the same chase. Every day is filled with the same overpowering fear. The land in front of me changes a little, but I only care what is right behind me. I look forward to the days when there is shade from the sun, and the nights when the wind is a little calmer. I can never really remember those days, however. All I know is the unforgiving desert in front of me.
Maybe what I am trying to escape from is not as bad as it seems. Maybe I could stand up to it. Maybe I could fight it off. Perhaps the pain is merely a bad dream. Perhaps the monster chasing me is only in my mind. But the fear is overwhelming.
So I keep running.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Do You Know?
Can you hear my voice when I'm calling?
Can you see my eyes when I'm crying?
Can you tell that I am wanting to run strait to you?
Do you know that I am watching?
Do you feel that I am waiting?
Do you care that I am always there, taking care of you?
When will you understand?
When will you know my call?
Will you someday know the care that I have given to only you?
Can you see my eyes when I'm crying?
Can you tell that I am wanting to run strait to you?
Do you know that I am watching?
Do you feel that I am waiting?
Do you care that I am always there, taking care of you?
When will you understand?
When will you know my call?
Will you someday know the care that I have given to only you?
The World of Song
It is far from silent. The chatter of the happy lunch-goers is everywhere, filling every space. But, here the sound is muffles. Through one door, then another the world is not cut off, but it is softened. The harshness has turned to a comforting hum to keep out the silence.
Here, I can hear my thoughts. However, I did not come here to think. I came to sing. I plunk a note on the piano. It is out of tune, but I don't mind. It is enough to remind me why I feel so at peace in this room. I am alone with my music. I am able to sing as loudly as I want, and put all my emotions into the music.
Songs of every type fill my head. I hear ballads and rock, top-of-the charts pop and ancient folk music. They swirl around in my mind creating a beautiful symphony that will never be able to be heard in reality. With these beautiful sounds in my mind, I feel as though I can reach the highest star. The physical world is thrown away when music takes over and my thoughts become all that is real to me.
I sing in French today. The words I sing are unknown to me, but the meaning of them can be felt through the way the notes lift and fall on the page before me. I can feel beauty that the song is written about, though neither English nor French would ever be able to accurately describe it in words. Some things can only be accomplished in music.
My duet partner joins me after a short while. The world I created with my music falls apart for an instant. I don't feel as though I left anything behind though, as we are about to create another world with our song together. This world will be even better, as it will also have harmonies.
Here, I can hear my thoughts. However, I did not come here to think. I came to sing. I plunk a note on the piano. It is out of tune, but I don't mind. It is enough to remind me why I feel so at peace in this room. I am alone with my music. I am able to sing as loudly as I want, and put all my emotions into the music.
Songs of every type fill my head. I hear ballads and rock, top-of-the charts pop and ancient folk music. They swirl around in my mind creating a beautiful symphony that will never be able to be heard in reality. With these beautiful sounds in my mind, I feel as though I can reach the highest star. The physical world is thrown away when music takes over and my thoughts become all that is real to me.
I sing in French today. The words I sing are unknown to me, but the meaning of them can be felt through the way the notes lift and fall on the page before me. I can feel beauty that the song is written about, though neither English nor French would ever be able to accurately describe it in words. Some things can only be accomplished in music.
My duet partner joins me after a short while. The world I created with my music falls apart for an instant. I don't feel as though I left anything behind though, as we are about to create another world with our song together. This world will be even better, as it will also have harmonies.
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