Publictakeover's Weblog

What the Moonlight Whispered

Is that America I hear, singing?

It’s hard to resist titling something before I write because the cursor is in the title box when the page opens. Some people put the title in and then change it after they write the piece. I try to put nothing in until I finish writing, then put some smart, summarial title in.  Instead, I forget to put in a title or forget to change it at the end, as the case may be. Loretta never misses an opportunity to tell me I’m getting older. I forget things every day.

Sometimes now when I think about our plan to move upstate and live with animals and a small farm, I sort of look back, casually, almost blankly, at the last 30 years, like I’m looking back over my shoulder for something I just passed walking down the street.

All of humanity is teeming with the electronic vibration of music and language and consciousness now.   Everything is happening now.  Everyone is singing together, I hear.  The song is moving high above us all, and down here among us a little bit, too.  The song is leading us.  We never go anywhere without it.

Although now the song is a secret to all the world, hiding in plain hearing, right in the middle of our consciousness.  We hear it, but we don’t hear it, see it, but we don’t see it, know it, but we don’t know it.  It is ours and we don’t even know it, don’t even believe in our song.

That’s so pathetic:  to be one with the song of the cosmos and not even know or believe in it!