Grace Full

The rhythm of the day. Each day we live is a song, with cadence and pace, a beat, a feeling, a tone, a natural rhythm, breathing, we can ride this wave, we can navigate with the beat, sensing it, hearing it, feeling it, and going with it, riding it. And yet so often, we kill it. We play white noise over our song, rushing through our day, madly eating, yelling at the kids to move, move, covering over the beat, can't hear it, muffled, we stumble through unaware the song that runs in the background, the song that guides us, directs us, inspires, points us like a compass. Like we're behind sound booth glass unable to hear it, and so we ram ourselves through our days, as if a Hummer making its own path through pristine wilderness, like when two songs play at the same time, a jumbled mix of beats and vocals, can't distinguish my own.  And yet, when I stop, and listen. Really listen, it rises up, as cream separates, and I begin to hear it, faintly, then bits, and more, a rhythm, sometimes fast, super fast, and then slow, really slow, stopped, pause, space, repeating, and I breathe, repeating, and instruments fill the space, and I follow them and then a voice, a voice that pulls and lulls, opens up, awakens, connects, and it is my voice, I have found it.