Thursday, April 10, 2008


"Where do you think it comes from, what I hear?"

"I think it comes from all around you...
it comes through us... some of us...."

"So, only some of us can hear it?"

"Only some of us are listening." [from "August Rush"]

We're all talking, talking, talking. It's been too long since I spent time (good, quality time) with folks who don't have it figured out and aren't afraid to admit it. You can only hear the answers for so long, and then you want to jump out of your skin, turn to the guy next to you and say, "You know, this whole 'What's the point of life thing?' Yeah, well I don't always get it either." But then I'd jump back into my skin, so it didn't look like Abbye was admitting that; she might get the turn of a head, or the mark of a pen, or the boot out the door.
So, I'm needing to be with people who are nothing like me and just like me.

those moments. I know you recognize them. I most often recognized them when I was walking across the campus of Southern Miss, by myself... when the wind comes barreling in from behind, out of nowhere! And you felt it. Something. It happened this morning, walking from my car into the building that houses the Church (ah, yes.) and the wind is swirling all around me. Signs that a storms a'comin. No surprise, it's been storming a lot in the 2 + months we've been living in Memphis. Anyway, the wind blew my hair all up in a dither and the temperature felt just less than perfect and I didn't want to leave it. I felt, in that moment, free because no one was asking an answer of me; no one was there to interrupt the whirlwind. The roar of the winds lets you drown out not only all others, but perhaps mostly, it lets you drown out yourself.

let the wind roar.