It’s been a little too quiet in here. I’ve had my hands full with real life stuff. I’ve got a few irons in the fire for Windstrewn; so expect some new material soon! In the meantime, let me reacquaint you with an older post that accomplishes a few things at once:
a. If you’ve enjoyed my music or are new to it, Dublemma is the first song I released to Windstrewn. It meets me in the now because of what it attempts to communicate: things can get complicated, but that dynamic does not require that you forfeit being a fixed point of stillness, insight and smiling contentment. There’s such power and freedom in recognizing that.
b. It gives you guys somewhat of an added introduction to who I am, where I came from and what makes me tick. Although my music involves a sometimes significant investment of thought, reflection and emotional engagement, I don’t typically write insight pieces to go along with each song. I’d prefer for each one to stand alone and meet the listener where they are. So this reblogged post is an atypical example in that, in addition to the music, it’s prepared food for the reader, as well…for those who visit here more for the words than the tunes.
c. Lastly, this reblog buys me some time! I appreciate those of you who deliberately choose to spend time here…you guys are the gift of an added sense of purpose beyond what I would do on my own. And there’s no bottom to the well of work you all are doing; to say that I enjoy and am inspired by what I see, read and hear from you guys is an absolute understatement. How cool is our WordPress community?
Have a great Father’s Day weekend!
Poetry: That’s Gonna Leave A Mark
I’m neither young nor old, but I feel like both. We always seem at war with the various things that make up the experience of life: we wrestle, sometimes wrongly, in the ring of how to define a right thing, we stubbornly straddle the divide between being able to run a mile and an ever-increasing unwillingness to accept the pain involved, we bounce and bob between the jostling shoulders of sadness and joy, melancholy and hope, exhaustion and vigor. We’d probably always choose to go out and play, dare a friend to eat mud and chase rabbits; but, truth is, the clock on the wall never gives us an alternative as to the unavoidable necessity of growing up, growing old, ever silvering into a state of spectating more than sporting. The walk into wisdom is over uneven ground, to be sure, and it’s tiresome. The rabbits were always faster than…
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