Emotion of Circle
I don’t have all that big of a circle of gay friends. And the non-gay ones that I have I can never share those things so deep within my heart because they are simply incapable of understanding.
At the moment, I am overwhelmed with emotion. I am trying not to cry.
To understand that certain primal call of mysticism from deep within one's very being in the way one given the gift of homosexuality can, is to experience an awesome gift.
It is the music.
It is the music that I listen to at the moment.
The memories. The emotions.
It overwhelms me.
Don’t laugh.
In this time of transition of the summer solstice in the northern hemisphere, it is the music of Christmas to which I listen.
That longing for, yet fear of, that cold and dark and forbidding which is in opposition to this, the brilliant point in the circle of seasons.
And yet the comfort and memories and mysticism and miracles of the darkest of days on that circle fill me with emotions I can hardly express.
At the moment, the iPod has randomly selected a series of pieces from a collection by the American Boy Choir. Classical Christmas music of the highest traditional order with organ and percussion.
I have listened to this so many times in the past. And to hear it again, to revert to those past experiences, it is near overwhelming.
What is it about music, the ambience of music, that simply overwhelms the soul?
The purity of voices? The polyphonies of melody against melody? The familiarity of the ageless theme? The burst of cymbals? The little chiffiness of the flues making up the diapason rank of pipes? The antiphonal dance of opposing choirs? The near eternity of reverberation in the great cathedral? The calculus one’s head instinctively goes through in transforming the physics of syncopated airwaves into changes in heart rate, blood pressure, tears, temperature, neural stimulation, hormonal modulation?
And the resulting, overwhelming, emotion to cry.
With joy.
With sadness.
To cry.
And to accept that the end of the circle is also its beginning.
The Refectory Manager
At the moment, I am overwhelmed with emotion. I am trying not to cry.
To understand that certain primal call of mysticism from deep within one's very being in the way one given the gift of homosexuality can, is to experience an awesome gift.
It is the music.
It is the music that I listen to at the moment.
The memories. The emotions.
It overwhelms me.
Don’t laugh.
In this time of transition of the summer solstice in the northern hemisphere, it is the music of Christmas to which I listen.
That longing for, yet fear of, that cold and dark and forbidding which is in opposition to this, the brilliant point in the circle of seasons.
And yet the comfort and memories and mysticism and miracles of the darkest of days on that circle fill me with emotions I can hardly express.
At the moment, the iPod has randomly selected a series of pieces from a collection by the American Boy Choir. Classical Christmas music of the highest traditional order with organ and percussion.
I have listened to this so many times in the past. And to hear it again, to revert to those past experiences, it is near overwhelming.
What is it about music, the ambience of music, that simply overwhelms the soul?
The purity of voices? The polyphonies of melody against melody? The familiarity of the ageless theme? The burst of cymbals? The little chiffiness of the flues making up the diapason rank of pipes? The antiphonal dance of opposing choirs? The near eternity of reverberation in the great cathedral? The calculus one’s head instinctively goes through in transforming the physics of syncopated airwaves into changes in heart rate, blood pressure, tears, temperature, neural stimulation, hormonal modulation?
And the resulting, overwhelming, emotion to cry.
With joy.
With sadness.
To cry.
And to accept that the end of the circle is also its beginning.
The Refectory Manager
posted by The Refectory Manager | 8:55 PM
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