The Great American Tragedy, Part 2

                                                    Part 2

 …and then there were the Remnant; unseen among the gawkers and not heard among the squawkers…they owned a silent honor that bound them to each other. Strangers to Narcissus, they were drawn to disconnected circles where silence was symphonic and grace perfectly at home in the gleam of the eye and softness of the smile. Such power has no need of shiny things. Such power has no need to have. Period! Impervious quicksilver reaching only for the light…as in nature’s smallest seedlings…it simply is. Just as truth is simply truth with no kin in variation, and no friend or foe in interpretation. Only the Devil himself moves by intention and design in such circles. We who have been connected so, are either Remnant or somewhere between the Masses and the Remnant led by our hearts away from the one to the other. In fact I may have just given you the perfect description of my life.

How is it that you and I are bound together in numbers we have no way of counting, most of us never having met, and yet we share this kinship that is unbreakable…forged in some sacred fire my heart tells me. But we are quicksilver in the world of men, among the very people we have shared our lives with, had our children with and waved to on our way to and from work each day. How else could we share the same experiences, ingest the same cultural influences and social connections and fight such contra veiling and at times lately, earth-moving forces to stand against the grain with such powerful conviction?

Today I am in a place of thankfulness, and in the spirit of a gratitude far deeper than I have ever known!  Ironically, I am able to make this claim while morning the death of a country I love beyond words because I have a place at this table with you. I am thankful to God for the wisdom or luck (I’m not sure which) to have missed all those boats that only take us from ourselves to the tempting ports of wanting more…where we never seem to arrive. There are two dreams from my childhood so powerful that I will never forget them. And I realize just now the part they’ve played. In the first dream I was (as a child) riding atop a wild stallion without benefit of a saddle, having only his mane to hold onto for dear life. There was no sense to the dream…no idea or thought of breaking the horse, or any destination for the ride…it was just purely about holding on. In the second much darker dream, I was the last child in the long line of children following the proverbial Pied Piper as he led us either into or out of a place that is not clear. What was vividly clear was the gate that closed behind the child in front of me separating me from everyone.  

Lastly, I am especially thankful for the sober awareness of the fact that unlike the wonderful meals we are sharing with loved ones today, most of what is being served to us is worse than not real…it is poison that literally destroys the only real part of us. This is heartbreaking for us because we know what it is doing and will do to those we love…but we’ve been here before, haven’t we? When Narcissus leads us beyond the gates of Natural Law, only the self-aware will know better than to be caught on the wrong side of them! This will be the most painful separation the world has ever known. Think of the horrible movie that starred Meryl Streep, “Sophie’s Choice”…X 1,000! Please choose wisely!

God gave me this gift as a bridge to heal our divide http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22jU9pybrX8

I will have a studio version in time for Christmas 🙂

Happy Thanksgiving Dear Friend!

 

 

Chip Murray: Wide Awake

About Chip Murray

Singer/Songwriter
This entry was posted in Economy, Politics, Religion, Society, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to The Great American Tragedy, Part 2

  1. Martin T. D. Burnett says:

    Happy Thanksgiving Chip!

  2. I did not read this until today – thank you. Hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. You have a gift with words and we can all be thankful for that.

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