Avon river, Bath UK,
August, 2009
When distress calls from low cloud skies, the troubadour's music somehow filters through in beams of light, which turns sadness upside down. He assumes his role through the caring kindness of others, through their concern for my well being. I hear his songs of love resting in the lyrics of their encouragement, in the words of their own stories, in the hugs I have fallen into, in the smiles they freely share, in their own moist eyes which seem to appear when their own memories are plucked and in their brilliant laughter when I offer up an absurdist perspective. This healing minstrel plays through the feelings and actions of others.
He comes from an ancient past and travels with the apparitions of ancestors who provide reflective moments and gifts to explore. Remember this, he sings. Listen to this he suggests. Fill your senses with these, he encourages. Come lets share a cup of tea. He takes me back into the past, but seems to carry me as I try to remain in the present moment. Shards of memories which easily can pierce my soulflesh seem to be easier to explore when it is accompanied by his strumming. Grateful to be awash with inspiration rather than always grief, I come to the end of this day tired but safe...... alone but loved. His comfort allows me to step into discomfort because he helps me pace my growth with his grace notes.
Today, I was given a gift from a friend..... when I unwrapped it and saw that it was a beautiful ornate gold cross, I was so taken aback that I sat speechless, until my tears sprang up in the silence and I heard the music of the troubadour. Then, when my friend told me the story behind how he had been given it and why, and how far it has travelled only to find a place in my own hands, I was touched beyond words. thank you Charles. It is lovely, lovely..... and it will accompany me wherever I go. Just like my troubadour of love.
