Ritualistic Chanting

After spending two very satisfying days with a brother and my niece and her husband, I’m adjusting to my version of normalcy.   They were wonderful days, too.  I enjoy my family, probably far more than I’ve ever told them.  For reasons that are beyond my ability to adequately explain, I have a bit of a tough time telling them what they mean to me.  Maybe one day I will be able to say what I should have been saying all along.

But now, I’m adjusting to my version of normalcy.  First, a bit of television news, courtesy of KERA, Channel 13.  Then, an attempt to be entertained by “normal” Friday evening programming. A dismal failure.  But then, music.  Music is the salve I need, sometimes.

So far, I’ve listened to The Fratellis (Acid Jazz Singer), Leonard Cohen (Hallelujah, The Future, Dance Me to the End of Love, Antje Duvekot, Greg Brown, Gotye/Kimbra, John Hiatt…I could go on.  Music heals wounds we don’t even know we have suffered.

Words don’t provide the healing they once did.  Unless they are attached to music.  Chanting has its benefits, I suppose.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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