A smooth and jazzy attempt at a right-brained response to some of the questions hidden in view of all of us. Not trying to preach or convince. Just playing with the idea of “what if?” What if? . . . can lead one in new and surprising directions. Be Groovy. Plato
In the moments just before ink marks the page I know that words will fall short. For who could capture Her with mere paper and ink? But I am compelled to try hoping that my attempt, though clumsy and sophomoric, may in some small way reflect back the beauty that I have recognized in Her.
She is new to me, yet I have known her forever. Even so I have just begun to experience, to comprehend Her. She has captured my attention and stirred longings thought bruised beyond rising. It is now Her face I seek, Her call that I await. And in the between times I remember, I wonder, I muse.
I remember Her form, Her fragrance, the way She fits my body. I wonder how it is that she has so easily assumed this place with me. I muse about the meaning of this dance begun between she and I.
With Me she is familiar. She is bold but not brazen. Her confidence is that of assumed kinship and intimacy. How is it that She feels like Home? How is it that a raging passion and peaceful sweet rest can co-exist?
She is dainty yet powerful. I have watched a dull room energized at Her approach. Men straighten themselves in hopeful anticipation of Her glance or smile, grateful for any small attention. Women appraise Her, hoping for an ally, dreading competition with Her light.
Her smile is a magic thing. It is infectious and sensual. Her mouth shaped in anger is pouty and full beneath a furrowed brow.
Her movement is fluid and natural as a young doe. She is at ease and alert. She is finely wrought and utterly feminine, Her spirit at home in Her flesh.
To be near Her awakens slumbering passion. To be apart calls forth the Poet, the Bard. She now has claimed Her place in His story. She is now set apart. Sleeping Beauty can now awaken, at least for the moments that the Poet can guard Her heart.
But harken to me! It is a dangerous thing to call forth the Poet and awaken the Princess. The story will unfold with many unseen twists and turns. Exquisite will be the rapture. Exquisite will be the torment. Yet that is the nature of the play. Both comedy and tragedy are required. Such things are always risky. But perhaps the Poet and his Muse can create between them a place where the songs can live.
This is an older song lyric and came out of a period of solitude. The theme of wind and Soul reminded me of it. So I dug it out.
(Jazz – Blues – Country – some anger/strength which builds to the end. Mayer or Clapton or Marvin Gaye)
(Start fairly soft and pointed) (Could be spoken over instruments the first time through)
(R) I’ve been gone.
There are just some things a man must do alone.
So if they ask you where I’ve been just look at them and grin
And tell them – He’s been talking to the wind.
(1)I’ve been talking to the wind
Telling her the paces that I’ve been
And though she don’t have much to say
I think I like it best that way
And I can feel her tender touch upon my skin
(R) I’ve been gone.
There are just some things a man must do alone.
So if they ask you where I’ve been just look at them and grin
And tell them – He’s been talking to the wind.
(2)I’ve been singing to the breeze
Songs that have put me on my knees
And while she has yet to sing along
I know she understands my songs
And she fills me when it seems too hard to breathe
(Skip chorus – build to end)
(3)I’ve been raging at the storm
Standing at the place where hearts are torn
I look unblinking in her eyes
And I can feel the anger rise
I remember strength. And in the fire I am reborn.
(Finish big and hard with chorus and guitar/drum back to soft finish)
