Kind of squishy, he was, in the end..
The sizzle of Humpty cooking in the noonday bright..
echoed like a dirge in the morning Wind..
and draped like a pall over a delicious sight..
Music begins with a note - personal, intimate, and illusive. As we seek to express that one note and join with others in the same effort, a symphony ensues. The symphony is a chaldron of our individual selves merging and flowing together not always in harmony, sometimes in conflict. At times, such as here and now, so harmonious as to make it clear to each participant that something ineffably divine is occuring.
I wonder what instrument and theme each of us considers we are playing. It may not be illustrative but certainly should be amusing.
I fancy myself a french horn playing those dulcet themes that are heard only occasionally yet reverbrate long after they are sounded. Sometimes my theme seems to have no bearing on the direction of the symphony. But always it drops deeply into the depth of the music and moves the work by a volition unseen and unheeded.
To be aware of the symphony and to listen to it is to achieve that spontaneity I spoke about many posts ago. Jesus knew the music, knew His part in it and played with a clarity and determination that moved the song of songs to wondrous melody.
Can we be conscious of the instrument we play and understand the music with such clarity that we are at one with the music of the spheres, the song of God?