14 February, 2018 4:23 PM

Early and alone in the Anglican cathedral, listening to the University of King’s College chapel choir practicing for Ash Wednesday Evensong.  Their sound nearly leaves me aching…with longing…with beauty…

I always seem to think of the solar system when I listen to them…so many pieces moving, each in an orbit and the orbits holding each other in their elliptical dances…aural choreography with cosmic effect.

Those hanging notes…the ones that linger afterward…augh.  They reach my ear... they draw me to themselves in unavoidable absolute captivation…I feel myself lifting with the sound and know the desire to be taken up by the sound…longing, somehow, to go to or give myself over to, the place where the hanging notes rise because that…that, is where the words of poetry have substance and beauty written into their syllables…it is a space within the sweep of the Muse’s diaphanous shawl, within the sigh of the Spirit...

It is a place of alone-together, of intimate concentration, of divine vulnerability…a harmony of waves, notes, giving light to the Word that lies within all that God has brought into being.