Not to be published 1

There are days where I just want to be an observer of my own life. Days where I want to send Neil off - and follow at a distance. Step outside myself, see things as they are. See what others see.

Just to see.

The seasons of life are outside of my control.

To see him with his friends, to see how he uses his time, where is he strong where is he weak. Would I like who he is?

The boy is father to the man.

The boy is father to the man.

It took me a long time to understand what that even meant.

And I'm finding that knowledge alone is insufficient.

Nina sings, I don't know why she is so sad - I don't know why her songs resonates with me - I don't hear her words - it's her voice, her performance - she sings about lilac wine and sinnerman's, about freedom and chilly winds. She sings and the mood is thick.

The mood is a new one mixed with an old one.

not sadness, not despair, not resignation - even now it is cooking, bubble-ling and brewing. It ebbs and flows with the music - but only on the surface, the music seeps into what is there, bringing to life stiff and forgotten muscles.

A beast that has been sleeping fitfully for years is about to awake.

Life has forgotten this one - so still he lay - so motionless and rigid - that life grew up and around and over him. But the music flows down, bringing life and light to long forgotten areas. The spice and scent of action is on the air. There are rumbles in the deep, precursors, harbingers of what is to come.

The music flows on and on, the song grows and grows. Down into the depths it shines it light. It echos of walls and chambers, gathering a beat and tune of it's own.

Slowly, dimly at first, light flashes below in the cavernous depths. Soon these dim flashes turn into a blaze all their own. Light pours out of the ground. Out of the ground throwing long sharp shadows across the landscape. Nothing escapes this light - it absorbs all - consumes all - it smashes into the song and the to become inexpressible mixed.

Matching each other beat for beat, measure for measure, they travel into the still and silent night.

No comments:

Post a Comment