He who bends to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise.
(William Blake)
Flying joy-- afternoon piano version
Why don’t I ever sit down and listen to him play?
I will miss this when he’s gone, this holy background music
It’s lent, but he asks if he can jump to Easter songs; he misses the Alleluias
And I sing them quietly, rebelliously with him
while I shred chicken
Why don’t I sit more? Just to listen?
Do I realize how blessed I am to have this as the soundtrack playing right now in my life?
Yet, it’s ok
to let them spill heedlessly through these rooms
These notes are not for me
They are not mine to hold
They fall from the piano generously, excessively
like Michigan snowflakes and like grace
They pour out like a waterfall
And they will keep pouring
Flowing to people and places I can’t imagine
And I will be wherever I am
Cheering on the outpouring
Even when it rushes beyond my hearing
Grateful to have known this river when it was just a tiny stream
And for this moment
when the chattering of his springtime brook flows right through my Lent
and teaches me to rejoice, pray, and give thanks
while I learn to love, and to let go
