Leave A Message
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| Dawn at Sunshine Hill
It is January of a new year I hope to
keep from breaking my heart. What choices can I make in this ambiguous world? Early
in the month the nightmares came, the quaking in the deep reaches of the soul,
the cries of something caught—imprisoned there. Of wings breaking against bars.
It was the world struggling in the dark. It was the song of freedom caught in a
paralyzed throat. From deep in the world’s soul I have sensed the unending
yearning to sing, to fly, and I have felt the quaking behind closed doors,
impenetrable walls, the paralyzed will.
I hesitate to put this into words.
We of this world have now been taught
the stranglehold on life itself, on truth, on goodness, beauty and the unity of
being that once we knew to be our destiny. We recognized it from the way it
mirrored the depth in us. Each morning now I wake wondering. How can I meet
this thing that slouches towards us? Resisting it seems not to work. Is there a
possibility of calling forth from it that bird with broken wings? And if so,
what is the charm that must be worked, the song that must be sung?
If anyone knows the answer, leave a
message underneath a stone or in the knothole of your favorite tree. If you
still can sing, let your voice be heard humming in the grocery line. If you are
even now blessed with flight, soar, and let fall upon the cities, on mountains
and deserts where the hermits live, and let drift across the yards of people in
small towns pearly scraps of hope, green faith, and the translucent rain of
love.
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Comments
So wisely conceived and beautifully written. Love to you, Linda, as always.