Prelude and Cadence.

[Guest guest]

Where does this music come from, this voiceless aria

that sings the subtle heart into endless composition?

Little by little the days become a theme and variation of

ourselves, played into being by the awakening musicians of

this our souls concert.

When the keyboard of imagination starts to sing, I wonder

whose hand has known this score before the mind has yet

heard it played. What bow rests upon the strings that

vibrate to the key of this moment?

The days of our lives are become the movement of an

invisible symphony. Whereas before, they were dissonant

chords seeking the hearts auditorium. Nightly the soul

restores itself in this, the heart of our love song. A passage gets

drafted, and we all go looking for the author

of this prologue, yet the heart is already moving from an

impulse we can only discern by recitation.

Love composes itself with no regard for our petty

preferences. It will not be held in any note that cannot be

played sweetly by all. It opens the mouth of a bird that will

never be caged by a need to chain it to us. When we let go of our

personal score, a flock of divine birds comes to nest

under our roof. The heart strings play because they do, not

because we would have them play any other way.

We have no song to sing that is ours alone. Yet there is no

music without us. The dancer on this stage is but the dance.

Inspiration arrives dressed in the color we are able to

receive it in, dancing in the rainbow self, to remind us of

this, its invisible entrance. A ballet that turns us inwards to

its source.

My hands on this keyboard, imitate an other hand that has

already tuned the heart of us all. We all listen for the next

figure of its expression in us, recognizing our own melody

performed, by this our transpiring art. This love music is a

welling of one chorus, and a chorale of One. We are

performed within one hall of becoming, as the variations of a

divine enigma.

When you, who are my ears and eyes, catch this wind song.

Something moves in the heart of us both. Something

unfinished in me, becomes completed in you. You find my

next line, and write yourself the way I have loved you to be.

This part-writing is our tango we dare to enact, that love

may render itself in the world.

Where does this love song come from, and what hidden

harmony emanates, from what unseen opening? The secret

of this flowering is the bud of our surrender to a motif, sung

silently as night music, and now become the love that

delicately draws us together. We hear ourselves as the echo

of every tune. Such preludes becomes our cadence.

If the spirit of this music we play could be found. It would

be an empty shell we had picked up on the shore of

illumination, and placed to our ears. God sings in the wave

of this passing of one song to an other. Like a distant seabird,

loves call, is the inspiration of our answer.

Windfall, flux and flotsam.

The ecstatic and towering,

the flecks of mud upon your shoes.

All twinkle in loves eye.

Rub your eyes and stamp your feet

this is Holy ground.

Everything is expressing your perfection.

love

eric.

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All works and compositions found on the page submitted by

ErcAshfrd (AT) aol (DOT) com Are the Copyright of E. J. Ashford.

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