“The little singing birds are singing of God; the beasts cry unto Him; the elements are in awe of Him, the mountains echo His name; the waves and fountains cast their glances at Him; grass and flowers laugh out to Him. Nor need we labor to seek Him afar, since each of us may find Him within himself, inasmuch as we are all upheld and preserved by His power dwelling with us.”
– John Calvin, Preface to the New Testament
Music in the non-breathing of statues and the silence of paintings. You are the language where all language ends. For you time stands vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.
Feelings for whom? O you, the transformation of feelings into audible landscape!
The deepest space in us, which, rising above us, forces its way out, holy departure, when the innermost point in us stands outside, as the most practiced distance, as the other side of the air. Pure, boundless, no longer habitable.
The low hum of the computer and the clicking of the keyboard in time with the thermostat that pops and hums before the rush of noise to bring warmth. The warmth – like the warm breath through the brass that breathes fire.
My wife`s breath, so soft in her sleep. The airy sounds of my slumbering children – I can hear them breathe and I can hear them dream. Dreams, the sounds of thoughts and the static electricity of ideas.
I hear the wind in the trees and I feel the beating of my heart. I hear songs in the skies and the newly waking world is alive in Music.
That Music – always around me, unceasing, pervading, penetrating, unbeginning – yet long untaught I did not hear; but now the chorus I hear, and am elated.
No, not merely the raw sounds of pitch and harmony but the meaning, the order, the perfection. The world screams out in praise and worship. Yea, the stones do cry out!
Tired eyes on the sunrise – the Sun always comes too soon.
And so, the Day begins…