Actually, scratch that.
The timeline’s different for each of us but at some point you have to stop fighting your parents or religion or 1950s America or your no-good-son-of-a-bitch-ex-spouse or quite possibly even yourself. Yes, yourself. Signify this truce by beating your sword into a plowshare. Actually, scratch that. I propose beating it into windchimes. That way you’ll be gently recalled to the forgiveness when subsequent winds blow. Those notes will be a charmer’s tune easing the air around you, an alarming remembrance that by no means did you give up, but that by choice you gave in to an older song.
This struck deep – and I think of the verse from Isaiah, ‘ you shall have a song, as in the night when a holy feast is kept – and gladness of heart’ — Thank you –
resonance… thanks John.
I will now enjoy my wind chime even more.
john.I plan to go see your folks today
Oh, that older song.
Yes, but how oh how, I wonder, does one change what has been a practical sword for forty-five working years into windchimes, of all whimsical things . . .
Read this several times … something new and deeply resonant each time. Oh, for the choosing…
Chimes … tinklilng through the memories of what we have laid down, already slipping into a new song.
Oh, my. YES. Thank you. I’m listening for that old song tonight.