The Song
[Under development: 3 June 2005 ]
I wrote this piece sometime in the mid- to late-80s. Read one way, it sounds pretentious. Taken in its own context, it is a grounding of spirituality in everyday life.
The Song
At dawn, a few days before my birth, I overheard a bird busking in a neighbour's garden. Its song, like all music of the natural world, was free, unpredictable and without contrivance. The song thrush, if such was this herald, sang beautifully, reminding me of the utter insignificance to the world of my impending birth, and the necessity to live faithfully, with love, and with integrity.
The memory of that recital has stayed with me, even though I have since heard many compositions. When I am quiet, snatches of its song echo just beyond hearing. My response varies. Sometimes, I listen in delight, or I am filled with sadness or longing. Othertimes, I stop my ears and convince myself that human tunes are better. The response which I should like to return as a gift for the impromptu recital, are the steps my feet find in obedience to the spirit of living invoked by that song.
