First it was the music. Not rock or pop or rap, but piano with orchestra backup. The window is open. A neighbor appreciates a finer reality of life. I write.
Morning window
birdsong light breeze
on orchestral melody
these memories undefined
surreal and fleeting
yet never ignoring our past
elated recalling
your smile
warming and cooling
this love
intense and receding
the phases completed
the touch
of your hand
and always this feeling
of more
that is needed
your name is my song
now reconnecting with you
was the music
the window
the day of this morning
with you.
Where did it come from? What window is this? And Who?
Sometimes things come through--I know not from where. Others, I hold close.
A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture
every day of his life. --Goethe
Rather:
Every day I hear the music and poetry and secrets whispered by all creation, because it is by listening that I recognize the subtle color, finer detail and broader picture of this life. The Sound emanates from every atom in the universe. And between atoms there is nothing but The Sound, because all matter is but a crystallization of It.
When you hear It, you know.
--Ardi .
.
