The Eighth Day

Music. It's a gift we cherish, or appreciate, or take for granted. Or criticize.
God made it. Music is a creation of God, a miracle and a mystery the way the notes and noises come together in unity or functional discord, the way the math of it all is something discovered, something we didn't invent. And God said, "Let there be A-440, fundamentals, tonality, a universal language that resonates in the soul of humanity, creation, and the very cosmos,"and the evening and the morning were the eighth day, and it was good.

Eight. The eternal number. It just keeps looping around like an electron. If God rested on the seventh day, I'll bet He danced on the eighth.

I participate in the music. It's the gift I have, and the gift I give. I make music to give it away. Like a cake. You bake it to share it. The biggest difference is, everyone tends to eat the cake and say, "Yum, that was good." Or, "Thanks for making that cake." With music they want to give it a score, compete it with other musical genres, and worse still, instead of saying, "Yum, that was good," they say, "I want to do that; will you write a song with me?" Forget that it took years of training and a lifetime of practice, not to mention it is my talent, my coat of many colors (special gift from my Father). When it comes to writing songs, people tend to want their cake and eat it, too.

I practice. I work on my craft, both lyrically and musically. I agonize my way through the creative lifestyle and put up with the jokes presuming I am unorganized or "zoned-out." It's worth it to me, not to mention unavoidable, but if you want to write the songs, too, you'll have to pay your own price.

I can give the recipe. I do give the recipe. I teach. I mentor; but I cannot give the gift. The gift I have to give to the world is the gift of my own song. If I write you a song, I am giving you what I do best. I have climbed down into the deepest part of my being, and reached for the highest place in Heaven, searching for a melodious truth that will brighten your day or soothe your soul.

People come to me for song-smithing, but what they really want is to feel. That's what songs do best, they feel for you, they express the inexplicable. It takes a lot of courage to behold what is really in our souls. Writing a song unmasks you. It unveils the story shadowed by the lies people tell so they won't have to face the raw reality of heart-felt living.

I appreciate the appreciators of music. I want to create a feast of rhythms, rhymes, and harmonious insights. Will you come? Will you dance to my song?

And to you writers who want to give your own unique gift, I hope you discover your voice as a writer this coming year. Give it all you've got. Read books on the subject. Study music. Write, write, write, because practice makes perfect. Be brave! Set goals for your writing, and as you begin to collect songs, your unique gift will emerge.