The following is a poem turned soundscape. I created this with my friend Jeffrey Jopling (narration and much more) in 2012. We created this for my old blog community, Sojourners Indecisive.
Why did I choose to be company?
And how did I choose such company?
Why do I always choose the accompaniment
Why do I love the rattle of the sticks?
Why is my primitive mind so persistently percussively fixed?
Why do the warm chops of the mandolin give me cold chills and the twitch?
Do all musicians have this bad a glitch?
Are we all torn, forlorn within our niche?
What else if nothing will satisfy this itch?
Why have I refused?
I ask at the precipice of this new view.
I recognize my feet fused
one with the ground, never being used,
to the mound on which I’m now glued.
To the mount my eyes are cued.
To the fount my voice attuned
And in this fount, my heart within is imbued
My arms did, they have stay crossed
My brow in knots
My throat in clots in lots of lumps, lost
My eyes glossed
My cheeks embossed
By the raging waters in my heart, tossed
(Unlike the firm tree planted beside a river)
I can stand to become a part of something bigger.
I invest my questions like roots into a soil much richer.
I extend my limbs toward heaven to the great Giver.
I desire to produce fruit,
as sweet as the serenading serrating lute.
Reverberations and scents that suit
the atmosphere with soot, the burnt offering at the Holy foot.
Blessed is the man who lives his life full of bliss
Whose heart when earthly-worn receives the heavenly kiss
This man is blessed, his mind is hurled into the law of the Lord, rather than his own sense
Where he walks, his feet are blessed, when he talks his speech is beset
By his heart which little sways, yet even in his malaise he forgets
Himself . He is living for the Glory of an almighty God who was and is and always is.
Every part of his being is set in servitude. He is at the behest
of God. His song is a powerful psalm and a living…