Listening to Pipe Organ Music in the Evening
( I remember, as I listen to pipe organ music, the medieval Catholicism
from my childhood. The medieval morality of Catholicism and its hell fire and
brimstone, finger wagging judgments, put me through hell until I thought my way
though all that religious indoctrination. All that age old superstition is gone now.
Once I learned about the science of relativity, ( or Einstein's relativity ), a
cultural and religious relativity followed.
Still remaining today in my head are the core beliefs that Catholicism shares
with all other religions i.e. a love for God. Also I remember the pageantry, a
pageantry in Catholicism, that oldest of Christian churches, that comes to us from
thousands of years and thousands of souls, finding ways to celebrate what is
holy. There were the lace robes of the priests, the beautiful music of the choir,
the artifacts made of simulated gold, the stained glass windows, the incense
burning so fragrantly. Remembering that inspirational pageantry, I added that
to a bit of imagination to write this poem )::::::::
The first triumphant chord rings out
It feels as if I were inside a cathedral
A cathedral made of mysterious black velvet
A crystal diamond tabernacle sparkles on the altar
The thunderous pipes ascend chord upon chord
Tiny angels like butterflies appear
Each one glows from within a different pastel hew
Shafts of light as if piercing through clouds streak down from above
Hooded monks lost in worshipful thoughts
File in silently with bowed heads, swinging smoking incense burners
They begin with strong alto voices in their Gregorian chants
The air fills with their deep melodious song
The organist hits a higher octave of keys
Angels the size of large eagles fly in
They light upon the altar and proceed to sing soprano
The butterfly angels chime in higher yet
Am I really still on earth?
Or is this night of music someplace else?
The daytime world is far away
And I am lost in music magic!
Then the organist's fingers stop
The many angels and monks fade slowly from view
The cd has reached its end
The black velvet doors of the mystery cathedral close shut
And life returns to what it was before
I am a hippy that never dropped out. I have held on to impossible idealism and will not give up. I think the human race is a ticking time bomb and we are at the last tick. So what is the good of slow careful pragmatism that allows time for it all to (
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