March 30 - April 5, 2014: Issue 156

 The Music Of Soibada
Lucinda Rose

Pilgrims, dotted around a city
Or rather a community, a town
Embedded within the sacred sounds of whisper and touch
A guitar, a voice, or voices
A myriad of harmony and tone and full-rounded vibrancy
Whole in the ear and the tongue
Reverberating through stony roads and blackened palms.
The crowds dissipate, then swell nine times their size,
Bodies squeezed together in anticipation
For what is to come,
 A song, songs, verses and hymns,
Recited in reverence for the stories, the visions, the faith and love
 Has become of this tiny space
 A large area of jungle
Too varied to ever know
Or even understand
But does it matter
That we who bear
The fruits and colour of these people, this place,
Come to respect it as our own;
Simply to experience the sound lost in a minute,
In a second, in a breath
Of consciousness,
We who, day after day experience life as it comes,
May for a moment, any moment,
Become the harmony, the song that is US,
That is between us, that is around us.
And maybe then we will see that,
Only behind the next mountain
Lies another sound, far away
Startlingly near
The answer to a question we have kept hidden
And hidden away we have
Time to listen, time to learn
Time to feel that grace within the words, the breath of harmony
And of sound
That is us;
Our Creation.