The lights are out. There is black around me. It seems normal and yet spaced out.
I remember the time you said, I dont allow you to talk. Today dear, put the spring back in your feet. Sing like a hummingbird.
There is a story I remember reading when I was younger. A man in solitary confinement sings to himself every night. To both remain sane, as well as to retain the songs in his memory. As the arrow of time flows, the walls of the prison are seeped more and more in the notes. They have absorbed the range of two octaves and some rare notes from the third.
One day, in his 11th year of being alone, he feels the onset of a deep pain in his chest. The metallic taste in his mouth, tells him, that its possible a massive cardiac arrest. He remains still - exactly how a Buddhist monk would confront death. He tries to sing, but no sound emerges. He moves his lips just as he would if he were singing the chosen song.
At sometime the walls around begin to move, and then blur. He sees the trapped notes emerging from the walls. A slow release from this prison of oneself. Rattle and hum.
While I was reading this story, I visualised the notes literally escaping. Today, I invite you to free the trapped bird within you. As Bukowski would say, "There is a bluebird in my heart...."
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