Translate

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Porch rail repose.


With this love.

Long wide sustained chords, an obo pensive, breathing across it.

Stepping down, the chord moves and beckons the deep mournful bass to walk along, the obo seems to move across stepping stones, stretching, holding balance amidst an infinite abyss of soundless tumbling notes.

Moving across a purple delta of stones, breathless chords dome all points of the compass. 
Vibrating sturdy fibers weaving fine light, with the lower resonance effortless, patiently, holding the journey space.

On towards the center, walking the sacred spiral of a labyrinth.
The obo finds the center, the rose in an arc, which merges with all this.
Sojourn heart centered; the blossoming angelic scene unfolds in unimaginable magnitude and takes flight, sonic becoming sight.

Color moves out, all consumed.
Unknown, enveloped, dark, it is done.

Wonder glides through this simple porch. Satisfied. With this love.



No comments:

Post a Comment