rise from the ashes, phoenix

My Melody

And tonight I know it all has to begin again
So whatever you do, don’t let go
And if we could float away
Fly up to the surface and just start again
Lift off before trouble just erodes us in the rain

Every once and a while, when someone innocently asks me, "How are you doing?" I want to answer them, I am Coldplay's Mylo Xyloto, or Mute Math's Armistice or Anberlin's Never Take Friendship Personal, or Fiction Family... Sometimes I am the distilled essence of just one song. Sometimes I am Yellow, or Prove Me Wrong, or as I am today, Us Against the World. Sometimes I am silence, and the least pin drop seems out of place. It is better to be a song than to be without one. Except perhaps for the days when you are The Song that Never Ends, or even worse, Toxic

But in the end, I would rather be a song than silent, I would rather be any selection of notes and pitches than a rest if that rest is the silence born in the absence of sound, rather than the expectant, pregnant pause before the song comes to life. For if, in that moment, the pause takes hold, the silence can be deafening, the ringing in my ears a sign of loss. It is in the moments when I feel most silent that the problems of life can overtake me even when all else seems well, even when each good piece of news follows on the heels of another in a reverse parody of Job's calamitous day. I dread the silent moments when they carry no peace, no rest. In them I find weight without significance, heaviness that translates to my body with deadly accuracy and makes my steps slow and painful, my breath and temper short. So I seek solace in the music of friends' voices, in the learning of new things, in the snatched moments of prayer and faith that make everything okay for a moment. This discordant body I wield is entrapped by a flawed mind, a broken soul.

I grew out my hair and it was not long enough to reach the ground (but it got the favour of my prince anyway), the apples I have eaten bore no poison, I can't clean dust much less cinders, and I think if I landed on a magic carpet, if I was really lucky, it might just go "Ooof" and not hurl me off as deadweight. 

Sometimes in my silence, Hope sings to me. The siren call of a better life, not false and meant to drown though it seems exaggerated, but with real and present melody my new tune awaits, adopting my mournful tune and re-composing my song, interspersing notes of all the songs that have defined me, acknowledging the past and present, yet painting a future so beautiful and right that it brings me to my knees,  tears flow to stain the dust I cannot clean myself, but Hope can. And when the melody fades and the bleakness of the present tower returns, I hear Hope's distant echoes and cling to them. 

It's okay, you know I'll live to fight another day
It's okay, you know I'll live to find the words to say
It's okay, you know I'll live to find another way
And if you would give me holy wine, I'd shine
Will you come to me, like a summer's day, I will sing again
  • Current Music: Coldplay - Us Against the World | Delirious - It's OK