Well, I did it again. I played guitar in church. I WAS able to play "Heavenly Day." That was gratifying. As I played the song I thought of my mother who played piano in church as a young woman. I thought of the time when I said to my Mom when I was four years old, "It's great to be here." And she replied, "Where is that?" I said, "On Earth, Mom. On Earth." "Heavenly Day" is a song about the joy of being on Earth. It is about looking at the trees sway on a sunny day and being thankful for every blissful moment. Times of bliss are sacred in a way because our lives on Earth are so short and the questions so many. What a beautiful experience is life, so fragile, so special. That's what the song means to me. I had a terrible dream that my mother died and I played the song at her funeral/memorial service.
Even though I played " Heavenly Day" for the prelude music I was able to play another song during the service. It's a song that my semi professional guitar playing friend from out east plays in church. "This Little Light of Mine" was fun to share and got a good response. As my friend Mike says, just go out there and do it and you will be craving more. He's right. I've played three songs in church now and it is somewhat addicting. Call it a positive addiction(thanks William Glasser). You may be asking why I even play in church, because I doubt so much of the illogical thinking of religion. I would answer that by saying that I'm playing with my heart not my head. Some would argue the heart is more important.
Other notes.....Thanks Will and Iris for the plug for my blog on your show(#86) this week. The show was very interesting and I urge everyone who reads this blog to check out their ideas. (see Will and Iris on favorite blogs to your right.)
Oh on the theme of the wonderfully awesome summer weather,
The Summer Day
(by Mary Oliver)
(by Mary Oliver)
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—the one who has flung herself out of the grass,the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall downinto the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
What do plan to your precious life?