The Most Beautiful Song

my first attempt at stream of consciousness writing

The Most Beautiful Song
for Jeff, as promised, my first attempt at stream of consciousness. Thank you, my friend, for all of the inspiration you gave me, and more. I will miss your warmth on site, terribly.

I’ve been informed my Quest is but Quixotic, tal vez chaotic, at best
and should be abandoned in favor of the ones better situated to
appreciate the grandeur of my challenge’s long-awaited prize.
For, I seek none other than to hear, and experience, and bask in-

the strains and chords and melodies of
The Most Beautiful Song that the World has ever heard-
the one that started playing out of the silence in the nanosecond that preceded
the Big Bang itself, and whose harmonies have become exquisitely complex through time
as Hydrogen gave way to Carbon to RNA to cortex to sentience, yet still underlaid
with repeated geometric cadences our ears are not tuned to discern
but which I am convinced our souls may feel.

Having been taught this elusive Music only graces those who achieve Perfection,
the climber inhaling the panoramic view from Everest on a clear day,
an Olympian excelling in his field, the leader whose words inspire riots and redemption
the writer who puts the human soul on paper, captured in a singularity of sheer brilliance-
Indeed, the walls of the symphony hall where the Music plays are constructed, I know,
of living visions of the world’s greatest masterpieces,
Van Gogh in the archway, Goya in tiles surrounding windows,
Degas in the alcove, in the colors and shapes and shadows as the Masters intended-
not the parody of vision all great Art becomes when transcribed for the mortal world.
I am not a Master, nor am I the saint, with devotion worthy of the Holy strains.

I am simply one woman, confused, my gender relegating me to remembrance only if issue born.
I am told, anyway. These attempts at greatness, to be part of something larger than I,
are childish dreams of a limited adult who should know better, for I have not the Beauty
that might the world take notice as I passed before it. Immortality not meant for me,
it seems, in any way- for as a Questioner of other people’s Truth I am heretic there, also.
Mere Mortals are not permitted the music, held close by secret societies who proclaim
that reciting the correct cetechism might enlighten me, if only the words themselves did not
ring so very hollow in my heart and ears.
So I bask naked on mountaintops and let the wind and sun caress barren breasts, listening
to the cries of red tailed hawks below me, and watching ravens barrel roll in the thermals
Perhaps saved upon my altar, but thinking I stand unheeded knocking at the door.

I cannot accept Others’ vision of God, I am condemned to merely find my own, and with it
my way out of ignorance and suffering, maybe. As blood flows down my thighs
heavier each month, I am reminded of the doctor’s words-
an operation to relieve the pain, you’ll never miss that part after it's gone,
I guess I’ll never resolve that question for myself after all. Do I seek the Music to fill the space?
Or is it simply to say there’s more than that, and I will prove it to you right now if only,
if only- I knew where to start. If only- an anchor really tied me to this world, so that
When I wander in another, I would know the way back home. But you know what that’s like,
my Friend, don’t you? Only I disagree, sometimes it’s not that the sky’s too bright, it’s that
rather the sky’s not nearly bright enough, as I wait for the blinding flash to flay
my flesh into particles of ash, snow white, redeemed, pure enough for a heart as golden
as the one maybe seeking now to know mine, reminding me of every damning mistake
I made getting to this point in the first place.

As I listen to learned men and women discuss their pieces of visions of Truth,
in medical discoveries, everyday miracles, though, a larger sense opens to me, maybe,
there is another way put of this darkness where wandering lost I encountered far more than
I set out to inquire at the beginning, asking the Creator for the courage
to walk the true path of a human being in search of Light. Provided the responsibility,
it would appear, yet never quite the authority my position would require.
Not of the correct background or the proper upbringing,
too wild at heart for the coffers of the cultured and the elite, who have framed snapshots of the  Music
and placed it upon the walls in their meticulously attenuated studies, a trophy
of which they will recite every penny that Trophy cost, if only so you know your place.
Likewise, too refined and restrained, too scholarly, it seems, for the ragged ones
the seekers of Life who know the music like their own skin, every night when
the needle hits the vein, and the rage of every wrong ever inflicted on them
rises bubbling to the surface, raw as broken glass, True as the poison distilled from
Satan’s own vineyard. For there is Truth in all is beautiful and good, and beauty
is oft times hard to discern when birthed of pain so exquisite that cannot be borne.

I have not the patience to devote my life to scripture, or minutiae; I have no children
nor placement to buy my way to salvation, nor the physique of a Goddess, nor
the courage to step inside a Van Goh painting, Joyce’s novels, and live
with hatred under my skin. Yet, still. in my audacity, I say, “I too would
seek to have the chords of the World’s Most Beautiful Song  resonate in my soul as
vibratory units of fire to dispel the visions witnessed when the night was long
and cold, and I remembered too well, too clearly, just why it was,
I learned in the first place to fear the dark, because after all, I am just one person,
and it is scary when the light of the world cannot penetrate the blackness inside.
When every time I reached out my hand for support it was slapped back in reproach, as
stumbling, I kept climbing a mountain path, incessantly, my strength faltering,
but tenacious enough to go on believing that my works, my projects, my little presence,
was truly deserved, and there was a destination waiting somewhere at the end after all"

For those who say the Music is not meant for the likes of me, I would ask, why then,
do I hear it every time now I seek to comprehend something my mind finds too exquisite for mere words?
The lacy wing of a blue damselfly, dew on spiderwebs, the feathers of a cardinal;
the laughter of a child who has just learned what he can do, the deathbed of a life well spent;
holding my friend and permitting his loss’ grief to be my own for a span of a night.

In the ecstatic throes of a perfect climax, devoted entirely to another's cherished embrace-
or the curve of a stunning woman, the angles of a beautiful man,

the way the keystone holds up the archway just so, like magic,

and the whispered promises to myself, late at night, next time,
I will do better, I will learn from all of this. I will Be what I am supposed to Be.
If the Music is not meant for me, then I ask what is happening here?

Has Heaven lowered its standards,

to permit mere mortals like myself to enter? or has my world ascended somehow?
or is the space thinning, just enough, and the end times really are near?

Or is it just possible that the heretics were right,

there is entrance for those who seek, and do it with intent to Love and be Loved?

For the very sweetest chords, the most true, I have yet heard, were those unspoken in promises
of a great Love for the world, and one of the Light,

and yet another one actually of this world, not the other,
as of yet unrequited, but pregnant- at last- with the promise of a time for peace.

For to hear the Most Beautiful Song one must, I think, be willing simply to become

a part of it, and let one's atoms verily explode into its inspiring, terrible, humbling

and yet -most tender-  strains.







 

Author's Note

Inspired partly by watching the sun rise over the clouds on a recent plane ride, and also partly by a conversation with Cool Handless Luke regarding his masterpiece poem, "The Sky's Too Bright".

I appreciate all feedback, and if you liked this, you should also check out the piece that inspired it!

Reviews

[Cool Handless Luke]

I love it when I find a virgin piece like this as of yet to be reviewed so I can pop its metaphorical cherry and stretch out in my mind with the words lain before me I relive each verse as a moment to be savored. And you are sooooo right on the money with this. Especially the last verse:

for the sweetest chords, the most true, I have yet heard, were those unspoken in promises
of a great Love for the world, one of the light,
and one actually of this world, not the other,
as of yet unrequited, but pregnant- at last- with the promise of a time for peace.
For to hear the Most Beautiful Song one must, I think, be willing simply to become
a part of it, and let one's atoms verily explode into its inspiring, terrible, humbling
and yet -most tender- strains.

It makes me want to become a part that song and surrender myself to all those contradicting and yet complimentary emotions - to just be overwhelmed. It's a very liberating experience to just let go in your mind and let all this come out as it is meant along with portions of your own haunted and yet inspiring soul. I read this several times and it leaves me with the sense that while you are miles away, you are also right there and I can close my eyes and reach out and touch you.

[Marie Anzalone]

My friend. You inspired this write, and so much more. Because of your encouragement, I walked away from something that was killing me. I woke up. I believed in a better world. How does one repay a debt of a life saved? You were always too good for this site. Am sad to see you go, but I understand. I do.

[Jibey]

I found myself caught up in the flow, fascinated by the insights and reflections and moved by the honest frank opening of self to prying eyes, as yo lay naked on the mountain top or bleeding and helpless...

Deeply insightful writing... intimate and engaging, vulnerable and desirable

[Rick Puetter]

Dear Marie,

This is a difficult piece. Most stream of consciousness pieces are. It is hard enough to follow the ramblings of one's own mind, let alone those of another. Still much resonates here. And the particular theme of wanting to participate in life in a significant manner, along with a feeling that this is beyond one's grasp, is one that I'm sure plucks the heart-strings of many. And I assure you that it isn't only women that have this feeling. Men have this feeling, too. But I think the true tragedy is that the feeling of not being empowered to affect the world causes most not even to try. It is much better to have the audacity to think that you are gifted and special, for then you'll at least try to contribute. Now the contribution may be small, but at least there will be those small, but significant contributions.

Now in my own thinking about life, I don't feel there is a "greater purpose". I think we make our own purpose. I think many believe that without an outwardly imposed purpose Man will falter. I think Man falters anyway if history is any testament to what we do, despite what some would call high-minded purpose. But aside from the faltering there are great achievements, and these achievement cut across all cultures and beliefs. There are treasures produced by the religiously devout of all faiths and there are treasures produced by the purely secular. This leads me to believe that the "Most Beautiful Song" plays for everyone, at least for anyone that is willing to listen. I think you might like my poem "Warrior of Life" in this regard. The premise of the poem being that to rise above the cares and challenges of the world one has to empower one's self. It is up to each individual to rise, to lift himslef up. This is the noblest aspect of Mankind, i.e., that Man strives to reach the stars whether or not they are reachable. This is your "Quixotic quest". A highly nobel goal. So I encourage you to believe that this angelic music plays for you, that you are capable of hearing it in a unique fashion, and that you can contribute in an equally unique and significant manner. And I think you have already through your poetry.

My best regards to you,

Rick

[raining]

Yes it does flow along well. The music of the written word and the pen... You have a wide reach of subjects. thanks raining

[An owl on the moon]

This is powerfully moving, covering the profound topics as philosophy, religion, music, and art! What a stream it is, flowing around and through the reader with such depth. Every lines brings about a vivid image, but this one stood out: "For those who say the Music is not meant for the likes of me, I would ask, why then, do I hear it every time now I seek to comprehend something my mind finds too exquisite for mere words?" Amazing!

[Emily B]

oh, wow, a particularly amazing piece of work!

[LJW]

What I loved the most about this piece is the science of life mixed with the inner spirit of life. How do we mix the two and are they even, in fact, mixable?

I have a scientific mind and I feel disconnected often from the whole spiritual world others around me seeem to enjoy. I know ther is something missing but know not what it is. Maybe it is this song you write about, a music that cannot be heard. That requires faith to hear it. In that case, I will never hear it. The futility of it all. Will I still be straining to hear it when the "Big Boom" comes to blow me apart into sub atomic particles? Will bearing a child open my ears so I can hear this enlightenement brought to me by this music? Will prayer? Communing with nature? Or will I always feel this way...I felt that from your writing.

[SR Urie]

My dear, you have mastered the sound of swirling grass and endless agony's demise through love and light and joy. And musicthat we all seek, that we all grasp for, so far out of reach yet clear in our eyes and ears revives us from the tortures of youth's inexperience that you have set before us, set before me.
You are so beautiful, my dear, brimming with delicious truth and desire.

BZ

(thanx!)

[V. Lucien Maier]

Wow. You have such a vocabulary. It is intense for a reader. You may loose some light readers along the way. but True readers like me will always be enthralled with the piece for the mere fact that is uses so many delicious words. The flow is great, and it explores how you see the world. a Scientist with passion.

[Vesa Lee]

I feel so...inadequate.
"...now I seek to comprehend something my mind finds too exquisite for mere words..."
This is also my dilemma.

I can only agree with those who reviewed before me, and hope after reading again I might be able to form a sentence that does justice to the praise I'm having such a hard time expressing.


...........
Do I seek the Music to fill the space?
...........

[Kevin Vorshak]

This is really a deeply written and inspiring piece. I can't help but feel how deeply personal this must be to you. The tying in of music, chords, the universe and spirituality is really well done. The argument that anyone of us can hear the music, if only we listened comes across clearly and logically. This is high level writing and I look forward to reading more of your writing.