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.
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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.