Creation/Birth
One day we came to a mountain.
It stood hard-edged and black
over the grey expanse, the twisted
heather, the burnt wastes,
the sphagnum marshes. Slowly,
the sky drifted over it.
We stood and watched.
It was magic.
We could not move.
Though we wanted to reach
the flowery meadows
of the river valley,
we were drawn in closer
to the mountain’s shadows.
There was a hole in its side.
We sat in the darkness,
listened to water dripping
from far above into a cacophonous
space, where great steel vessels
clashed and rebounded,
aimless and lost.
We heard voices:
chanting choirs, mass
upon mass, solos moving
in and out of the foreground,
over orchestras, strings
and guitars. Under it all,
an organ whose great
ultrasound crumbled the rocks,
shook our bones to the marrow.
How we came out I don’t know.
I will never forget those voices.
The next time I looked at the mountain
I let out a cry.
It had turned around, was now facing
the other way.
I didn’t know then if I was held
by or holding it, or if I was
mother and newborn in one.
Creation / Birth – A piece of music
53 Fragments 