My Own Song

I was compelled to write this after reading a few pages of Whitman's poem, "Song of Myself," a true masterpiece of passion and love.  Please enjoy!

My Own Song

I am not sure if I can understand how so much beauty - the beauty if life - can be contained is so few words. I am not there with Whitman, but I am present. As he describes the movement of the unsettled crowd, I can visualize the confusion, the chaos, and I desire to stand next to him, wondering what all of it means. But I cannot contemplate, he does not allow me to; I must move along.

And now the sound caresses my body; the wind is my vibration and I am free, but still I do not understand you, Whitman. What are attempting to explain, so much contained within so little, and still you continue to move.

How is that we have arrived here, you, me, and all that is the world? Describe the brevity, but do not eliminate my joy. The moment is bliss, I cannot refrain, refrain from what? Is this not a dream? No, you must refrain from the urge, the urge to stop and stare, to be one with those who have accepted the deep and solemn trot. Will you go with them or shall we continue to soar amongst the clouds, the stars, the planets - the universe, you decide.

Whitman I must hold on for fear that the moment might escape me. There is too much to see, too much to do, I am defeated by the languid nature of them all. Please, we must rest. My heart races ever faster. My soul is being torn from the love lost. Stop I say!

The incessant cry will remains, but we will continue to journey further into the depths of unknown love and passion, beauty and good, inspiration and hope.

Brother for brother, sister with sister, we are all one, but we are none. The lies of the world have misguided us. The birth of the grass was a mere fable. There can be no death; all that remains is the cycle. Whitman, I cannot breathe. I am suffocating in my own ignorance, and yet you persist in your efforts. I ask once more, how is that so much is contained within so little. A vessel, yes, a vessel, that is what we all are, but we do not understand. Comprehension is a must; we will fight; we will die; we will fight, and we will die. He mustn't scorch the earth with his plague of darkness. I will not accept it. I want to stay there, but I cannot. Who is to blame? Me? Or You?

The thoughts run with the flow of the stream. Yes, and Whitman has raised the level of understanding to an unprecedented level. Finally, a voice that understands the passion that I have for life, as well as the spirit to depict what I see, despite the suffering. The moment, for me, is full of love, but I am continually forced to depart with the warm embrace. They continually tell me be strong, fight the good fight; do what is right. I will, and I have, but the difficulty has increased exponentially. I find myself wanting to live in the moment forever, no distractions, no fears, no worries, just life. Only myself  that is why I sing to me. Only the nature that is God can understand; yet I will turn to other outlets. I will scream; I will yell, but all to no avail. I want to stop. I want to live there forever. But that will only amount to stagnation. I perceive the wonderment; I know of the pleasure, but I cannot concede, so I must sing to myself. I will make myself happy by mere reflection. This is my only option, since I cannot recreate the moment when I am experiencing it. All that I must depend on is the song, the song of the birds, the children, the soul, and the heart. That is what is music to my ears. My song is but a sorrowful depiction. DuBois spoke if it well; and it is no coincidence that he and Whitman coincide (remember, great minds think alike). Consanguinity does not always foster intimacy, but in this case it does... But why?

One must know thyself (again so much life contained within so little). When you have your own song, you can perceive the seemingly imperceptible. The rhythm and voice is unique, but the chord strikes you at the core. Here you are digging, The Sea, the Ocean, and the Devil too, all have been conquered. Will you not realize that is time to reemerge? Whitman is the soul of life. DuBois was the guide. And she is your reassurance. The portal was opened by The Rite, mastered through the art of perception, conception, and inception. With the ideas constantly flowing, how could you perceive otherwise?

Connection.

Ah yes, this is what it all amounts to. There is not a single event that can escape you. The articulation may never be of your own doing, but that is only because you perceive that your life is limited. Do you not remember the eternal soul, the one with billions of voicing screaming in unison, captivating and sustaining you? Do you not remember? What a foolish individual you have become, such ignorance is not becoming of you. And now you are free.

An unexpected moment with one that you love. He was once but a stranger, but now you speak through one another. For such a long time you have waited for this kind and gentle soul to listen to you. He is not her because he is better. When honesty, trust, and loyalty serve as the foundations of friendship, much more can be achieved.  Yes, it was possible for you to have this with all of them. But that time has passed, so the time is now. Accept your growth and continue to express. Expression will allow you to attain so much more. The heart is solid, the mind is weary, but you must continue to seek more.

We move as one because that is our essence. If life has granted me anything, that I will understand as the ultimate lesson. I told her that I would allow the tears to flow on the page; so I will accept that wisdom is forever, and experience comes with age. So what have I seen that confirms this totality of being? What makes me so positive? I did not understand not what he described, but I followed with enthusiasm and interest. The answer, then, is nothing more than my own song of faith.

 I have found my song once more. Tell them! The heavens, the people, the creatures, the insects, mammals, animals, please tell them all. He waited until 50, but I have it now. I will serenade them all with my lull, my eagerness of expression - return to the question...

How is so much beauty - the beauty of life - contained within so few words? Easy, one must find their own song and be soothed by their own voice. Only then will you begin to feel, to understand, to love life, all of it, with a passion that makes it almost impossible not remove to yourself from the moment. But by doing so, you gain further perspective and experience. The life we live is something of a whole, so the song that I sing to myself will come from the soul.