Historical setting: Inside a cell of wattle and daub.
This earth has passed two decades since the crashing of the wheel.
At this waking — darkness. Dear God, are you near? I know nothing of the sun or the season or the year or the place or even what kind of burial this is. There is no weight of earth.
In a brief moment passing I hear a child’s breath across the openings in the clays of a flute.
It is the music of breath over clay
as was the first mention of human life – first human
Lifting musician’s fingers from openings
Breath of Spirit escaping through passages
Release into music – a child’s tune.
It is five notes to make a sound or a song or strangely a dirge, over again and over, a low and breathy measure of sound, faster the tune to step or now dance, then a note lands wrong and the child stops to sigh and try again to find a better note, then song. Then silence, The child is gone but left the song in my head.
Clay of the pipe, daub of the wasp.
Spring breath in breeze through the reed of the wattle
But no beams of morning seep into this tomb
Music comes as breath of the Spirit, to life
A dark dirge it is into this pounding and breathing of life.
Dear God are you near, or am I alone?
I long to see the beams of a day. I thirst to hear the music again, then into sleep.
If it weren’t for the dark it would be a new wakening. This early hour is the deepest dark holding its breath for new light – beams through the spaces, now blur of lightness through ribbons over my eyes.
Near me the rustling, a sniffle, a breath, the melt of the frost from the wools that wrap around a child in the early morning freeze.
Then here is this music again.
And today I would take a breath to sing along…
I have no voice … I can’t move even a finger or a thought of a toe to make it a dance. I am the silence, I am the still, but then I know there is life to this song.
Thank you dear God for music and life,
For wonders of darkness and longing for light.
Thank you dear God, for hearing my silence.
Music broken, even the silence without it shattered.
“Anatase are you in there?”
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 