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Why I Play the Guitar
I'm standing on a beach in North Carolina. Water lapping around my feet. Sun setting behind me, just over the dunes. The woman who loves me best sitting in a chair, small child on lap. Other progeny playing, peeking at one another through proud castles of sand. Birds fly by. Fish leap and splash. Ghost crab skitters. I'm trying to take it all in, but I'm having trouble concentrating on anything. On top of all this wonder rides a constant music, a wave of sound. It's deep droning cosmic constant rhythmic running swirling sonority fills my soul with a message from beyond the stars. Who...? "I am"
I'm
a shallow man in deep waters. I see and feel the petty proud avarice I engaged
in. I remember the sucking sound of my soul leaving as I selfishly sought my
pleasures. I'm stripped of my flesh, the skin of my accomplishments (they are
VERY threadbare). What's left is nothing to do with me. I'm drowning in
the sound...
"Why do you doubt?" I have no answer for that question, only an ashen expression on my face. I do doubt, more than I care to consider.
"Do you love me?" Yes oh yesohyes. More than anything. Even in the midst of my mire. At least, I want to. I do. I...
"You are my friend" I'm having trouble with this one. How could one made of dust be a friend of the One?
"I suffered when I was tempted" Putting on skin. Breathing, bleeding, crying, sleeping, hunger, pain, hurt, guts, death. I can cling to that thought.
"Tetelestai" Yes, yes. I see it is finished. My ransom was paid in full. The verdict handed down "not guilty". Covered by the blood of the Lamb.
I struggle up from the waters, staggering. There's water on my face. The sound recedes somewhat, but doesn't leave me. Then I notice that it is in perfect rhythm with the waves washing up on the sand. The music of the spheres in concert with the lunar tide. I taste the salt running down my face. I've heard the human body is a lot like seawater in its composition. Maybe my tide is turning. I walk over to sit down. The unlovable, now loved.
Bill VencilCopyright 2008 Bill Vencil