Wholeness

I am not good at routines, but I sometimes find great meaning in ritual.  I brew a cup of tea, put on my headphones, inhale the tea's aroma and feel its warmth seeping into my fingers as my thoughts seep into the music.

And then, eyes closed as the tea's dark earthiness slides over my tongue, I wonder what it is I am hearing.  Is it only a sound or is it the silences between the sounds that draw me?  So many sounds are not music to my ears, but some are so rich that if I close my eyes I am completely immersed and wonder if breath is even necessary.

When it is, my sigh becomes a note, a song within the song and I slip deeper into this place that unites all the parts of me in ways nothing else can.  It is not so much the tune as the being in this space called music, this place where light comes from a source unseen and unfelt breezes carry me away.

Here the totality of my being emerges for whole breaths at a time.  Here my heart is the only metronome that can possibly keep time.  Here love drips slowly from my eyes for reasons I could not begin to explain, because it is not something that can be said.

The tea fills me, but I fill the music, expanding into it like moonlight on the rich velvety moment when the universe is totally dark.  

Softly surreal, gently fulfilled, it is here that I am most myself.