If you find yourself half naked
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth's great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden's dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you.
Music is like a human echo of the beauty of the world or nature or flowers somewhere out there sounding the beauty of a Creator... As I listen to this beauty, I can rest, let down the guard I consciously or unconsciously maintain against the next minor or major difficulty or crisis.
Perhaps the important matter is that we are who we are and where we are by a maze of reasons unknown to us. Our work is to make our way through our situation with faith and courage and whatever else it takes... In the end we are not only a mystery to one another but even to ourselves. The task is to live the mystery rather than unravel it.
