The power of love steers the ancients’ Spirit, conspires with luck, immuring ire with meme and crushed nautilus shells so that men and women might yet write less aleatory note choices upon the clay.
But, by making every word a bee's footprint on our bloom's best petals, the delicacies of sage and ashes written by such bodies may yet openly pollinate readers. Why, when poured in full flight upon the head of our soul, our listeners may actually heed the “Us” in a few of our very best leaps of melodic mind
W. H. Auden, in the opening of his epic poem, “The Age of Anxiety”, where he writes, “Tell me, what are you, Hiding in your heart”? (When I call what I see in the mirror my image or reflection, I am saying that it’s not me.)”.
Every day, the history of our selves hails us daily through our befogged fingerprinted mirrors. What they unveil - clarity or confusion - to our morning bath-robe clad souls is never the same. Day upon day our morning mirrors set our tone. Our pallor, its varied hues colored by vanity and veracity, leaves tangled traces of yesterday in our aging combs and brushes.
Destiny dusts from a diving bird’s wing, its direction corrected by Fall’s dusty whorls. It floats on Spring’s mottled surfaces, merges with summer’s dry soil, and is worn thinner by the wrath of a farmer’s plow pushing back on Winter’s wall. All the while, Ancestry carves the rock, hews the gravestones, and cobble-crafts the footprints which wrinkle an outstretched recipe for good and evil.
Through all this leftover dust, Family holds our best hands, cherishes character from the invisible, clarifies the common cloud, and christens a wood which winds red through well-worn skin to warm our weary bones.
And connecting the misted mirror, the melodic bird, the hewn rock, the full comb, and the dusted edges’ shadows is the sun’s illuminating dream: raising sorrow up from a world variegated by today and yesterday, sealing stories individual as kernelled corn that mold the morning cob to the morrow’s husk.
DNA crafts our counterpoint: the cores of conscience, and yes, even the tales of the corn. Every living thing wears the music of a helical necklace, each one bejeweled by individuation, and each meriting the melody of a miracle. In a world seemingly scored by chaos, war, and weariness, it is worth a moment to remember that every day can be a new best composition, provided we keep rhyme, reason, and even a bit of romance in our thoughts as we write our next great melody. And by the way, if it turns out to be a bit "corny", well, that is just nature's necklace at work inspiring us to leave a bit more than just our footprint in the sand.
My Dearest friend Andrei Gavrilov is an inspiration to all people to be aware, to stay aware, and make awareness a priority in life - and since Music is Life, Bach definitely understood DNA long before the helix was ever discovered. We are so fortunate that Andrei is about to allow Bach to live and speak again. It further energizes the tie that binds us all together.