the Blarney is flowing. I've got lists. I've got plans. I was recently reminded about one of the secret pleasures of wintering in the country. The quiet. I went for a hike with some friends, and half way up the mountain, the peace was overwhelming. We started to whisper. We walked more softly.
My brain likes the quiet.
What inspires me right now is prayer. An internal thought that you want heard, lost in the ether. And call and answer. (you'll know what I mean when you hear it, trust me)
When I was young, my family went to Catholic Church on Sundays. I remember bits about a lamb, a sacrifice, grant us, deliver us, have mercy on us. Those words scared me. I never felt comfortable there.
A few years ago, I celebrated Christmas with some Pagans (so it wasn't Christmas, it was Yule...) I was asked to participate in a prayer. Having remembered the prayers of my youth I was reluctant, but these were good friends, so I agreed.
We stood in a circle with some bread and some wine (familiar, but not symbolic of body parts in this particular case). Then one at a time, my friends approached me smiling; they offered me some bread and said, "may you never hunger". Once everyone had received the offering, they circulated again with wine. "may you never thirst".
Simple. No stipulations. No fear. Just a genuine interest in my well being, which in following moments was extended to the ground we stood on, the air we breathed, the rain that had fallen and the sun that followed it.
When I look at songs that I have written, I can see that they are a lot like prayers. Now that I can see it, I can feel my strength as a writer, and the power of my words.
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