Symphony

Journal Entry: Tuesday, Sep 20, 2022, 11:27 a.m.

This morning Scott and I traveled to Town Beach to watch the sun rise in the east, over the water.

When we arrived, the sky was painted a dusky gray. In the distance a heavy band of darker gray clouds — the color of burnished steel — stretched across the horizon.

The water was a glassy canvas, a seamless blend of gray and gray-blue hues, with soft undulating lines crossing the surface as the current moved toward the shore.

As Scott set up his guitar and iPad for recording, I moved down shore to find a place to sit quietly. I chose a flat rock, part of the sea wall, and sat gingerly, feeling the hard cold of the stone under my hand, then my butt, then my upper thighs. 

I settled in. 

A lone seagull watched me from his perch on a rock some thirty or forty feet away in the water.

The ocean lapped gently against the shore as its glassy surface broke sporadically in hundreds of tiny bursts — small schools of fish moving and touching the surface together as though taking quick breaths of the air above.

The seagull watched them dispassionately.

On the horizon, the light of the sun first kissed, then frosted the billowy tops of the dark cloud bank she hid behind. The lights was a golden brilliant yellow unlike any other color seen on earth. A color seen only in the heavens.

The color of light.

Facing the sun, I breathed deeply. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Feeling my breath. Through my nose. Into my chest. My diaphragm rising then falling as the breath leaves my body.

Three deep centering breaths. Focused only on breathing.

Then, relaxing into my breath, I listened.

The sun began to break slowly then dramatically above the clouds, a bright orange ball of fire rising and warming the earth.

Two seagulls soared low over the water, their silhouettes outlined against the sky as brilliant light burst across the horizon.

I listened carefully, tuning in to the symphony.

Small waves folded over themselves onto the shore in perfect time, the current carrying the ocean toward land, one measure following the next down the length of the beach.

The tiny fish breaking the surface of the water made splashing sounds so light you had to listen to hear them. Little bursts, like tiny bullet sounds or microscopic fireworks. The tiniest pattering of a snare drum.

The seagull who watched me suddenly cawed his screeching caw — loudly breaking the silence, like a trumpeter blaring his perfectly timed notes, bidden to do so by the conductor. Five times, his beak opened wide to the heavens and his head pulled back into his neck, screeching each caw for his only solo.

In the far off distance several dogs began barking together or perhaps at each other. Probably let out into their yard, excited to be free, running and carrying on and announcing their arrival. Like boisterous audience members arriving at an orchestra performance late, bustling to their seats and arguing amongst each other about who made who late, disrupting and disturbing the moment for the rest of the audience until finally they found their seats and settled in.

Behind me, the low drone of traffic a block away.

Birds flocking and singing at the far north end of the beach. Many birds, all singing as the sun made her grand entry to take center stage. Piccolos. Flutes. Melodies magically trilling as the real star — the sun — came to center stage.

She rose and raised her arms to the heavens.

Near the bird section, the lone sound of a bird whose song I didn’t recognize. I craned my head and squinted to see. An egret? She had been standing silently in the water earlier and was now gone. Had she taken wing and announced her leaving?

Ahhh…guitar now. Soft beautiful melodies drifting from up shore into the space left by the other instruments. Carrying the song of a soul at peace here with me. A perfect song to accompany and support the sun as she rose ever higher in the morning sky. Spreading her arms wide, she reached to the heavens and to each end of the horizon, receiving the songs of the earth, then sending back love, peace, warmth and radiance.

God — the composer of this brilliant symphony. I wonder now, remembering this morning, how He responds to what He has designed? Does He compose the symphony and release it for our pleasure? Does He allow the instruments creative liberty to add their own voices and accents as they make music together with the Spirit hovering over the waters? Perhaps He simply provides the voices and the gifts, then turns them all loose to collaborate and create and compose together, for His enjoyment and ours.

Does God enjoy His creation as I did this morning? Does He see and feel and hear and experience the glory of what He has created?

Or is this all just for us?

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below. Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Praise Him with voices created by Him for our pleasure.

Praise Him.

The earth and all her creatures praise Him and glorify Him just by being and living and existing.

The beauty of this symphony is God alive.  

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