That Holy Rhythm is the time signature of life itself, sometimes a loping cadence that drives whole villages down to the river to pray, and sometimes a thrum that carries someone out to walk solitary in a snowy field at day’s end while the light is dying and the shadows go violet, without witnesses, staring out. And so your life might go, as you quicken to your purpose: you get far enough into the sway of it to learn that you’ve been playing everything around the Rhythm, everything but the Rhythm itself, trying all the possibilities you found until all that’s left is to be played by the simple, ragged syncopation of your days. That’s when the Rhythm finally is able to have its way with you. That’s how finding what you were born to do seems to be, like answering at last someone who’s been calling your name faithfully for years. You play the rhythms and you learn the Rhythm, and you move accordingly: the ancestors of us all would have known that as the way of human being. Steven Jenkenson
Posted on: Fri, 21 Nov 2014 07:13:42 +0000
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