Beauty and Grace

[Guest guest]

I am sitting in a small insignificant bedroom in a nowhere place, on nowhere

land, nowhere special. It¹s kindof dark and chilly. It¹s winter. There is

a dreary gray feel in the room. There isn¹t much in the room. A mattress

on the floor, a card table, a laptop and a couple small speakers.

 

Coming through, on the speakers, is a song I¹m repeating over and over, and

it¹s just piano and a womans voice.

 

She is singing in her native Gaelic. She sings a very old song in an old

language.

 

The beauty is so great. The eloquence of the flow of the words, in that

special, beautiful language simply charms me. I hear it like as if it is

the perfect fairies singing, and also, my great great aunts, and long ago

ancestors. My heart opens wide, and feels the beauty, all those feelings,

all that humanity, in those words.

 

And then, I think it must be so for others, who are not of the emerald isle,

but of other places so different and so far away. They too, have the same

feelings, but with a different song, for a different set of histories, and I

think, what they feel, is the same as me, and that makes us the same,

brothers, sisters, and our differences, arbitrary colorful forms and

flurries called cultures.

 

As I exit, I remain, talking to my family, the list, that it whom I expect

will understand me most, when I am in need, of a friends ear.

 

And as I exit, I remain, the same as I was, sitting here, in this dismal

gray room, somewhere up here in Northern Nowhereness Wilderness, listening

to an angel, an Irish voice, sing an ancient Irish song, in their ancient

language, which makes me feel things I cannot explain, feelings of being

transported back in time, to them, once again, to know the roots of our

lives, the times of old, when we were where we were when we were there, as

we should have been, and will always be...there, in heart, because we, and

cannot otherwise be, anything but, ourselves, with roots of old living in

our veins, tieing us back to every place where our living has ever been.

 

Whoever we are, this truth is true

 

Wherever we are, our past lives with us too

 

 

 

Happy gray rainy day to you all

 

May your fields grow green, gentle rains always there, all good things come

to you, and nothing bad