Friday, May 9, 2014


I wake up to music, every single day.

On every double day, I wake up to the Little Rascals….
I can’t help myself…although I do love that Alfalfa!

But seriously—if that’s at all possible, at least for me—I do wake up to music, every single day.

And I don’t mean as in “Hey Jude” trickling out of that tiny, ineffective speaker in my clock radio as it seemed to do most every weekday morning of my late 1960’s early 70’s High School incarnation days.

I mean the music that’s just there, inside my head playing as a part of the soundtrack of my everyday life.

And the coolest thing about is...I don’t get to choose it…it just chooses me.

And with that, comes a rivulet of memory…sometime recent, most times past.

It could be another Beatle song, Dave Clark Five or the Supremes, evoking a feeling from the 60’s or even cowboy Roy Rogers, opening the corral door to the late 50’s, and all those Happy mindless Trails I’ve traveled, between then and here.

It’s just how my brain helps me experience the world; the world that astounds least when I allow it to, which to be honest is not as often as I should.

Because, while I know the music is always there, I am not…and on those days the music plays to an empty house.

Lost among the tedium, of everyday chores.

Ignored in the chatter of life’s small dramas, played out on the narrow stages we all carry before us.

But the music is still there, always, even if only as a whisper, coloring our present thoughts, indexing our past, even foretelling our future.

Because the music knows…even if we do not…the music knows exactly what tone to take, what rhythm to follow, what beat to set…in order to facilitate the dance steps spinning us towards wherever our hearts want to go.

Day after day, step after step…the music flows, waiting to be heard….wanting to be heard.

Sometimes it evokes a face from the past, a book, a movie, a place, a scent, a taste, or merely a touch.

A friend, a foe, a loved one, a stranger, a building, a room, a field, an ocean or a pond.

Happiness, sadness, courage, fear or unbridled joy.

All carried into our thoughts by the soundtrack of our lives…rewinding, re-racking…always replaying...the perfect melody, nostalgic tune, always the prescient song, advancing our lives.

There for the listening, only for us, and no one but us.

It’s the soundtrack of our lives.

Telling us all we need know.

Take a listen, and you can hear it too….

You can hear it now….

And never feel lost again….

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  1. Nice one Brian, it appears I don't suffer from that either, in fact I call my affliction 'Club Soda Coda' Rock-on and may your inner ear always be near.

    1. you're just trying to confuse me!
      But thanks...I think....

  2. Wow, Brian, this is one of your best! I love the way you write!

    1. Thanks, Pami...I love the way you read! So keep on reading on....

  3. Powerful. Knocked my sock off! I took the other one off myself. I think it is poetry, although I understood it.

    1. Joan, as much as you say I make you laugh, you always make me laugh, as well. I'm a little disappointed the damage was limited to just one sock, though.

      I'm having a hard time thinking this is any kind of poetry not only because you understood it...but mostly because I wrote it. Poetry and I rarely see eye to eye...

  4. Me too. I want to be sure of the meaning of what is written, and poetry often seems hard to nail down. But it is said that poetry exists on a higher level than prose.. So your retort makes me think that it might really be poetry. I actually "got" it. Well, I once wrote something I thought was poetry because I didn't understand it, which made me believe - yeah- it's the real McCoy.

    1. This is probably why we both have some trouble from time to time deciphering Ropey. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's his intent. You should check out his site though...I think overall you will enjoy his wry sense of humor, as much as I do....


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