Sunday, December 20, 2020



It rests inside its close-fitting red-velvet-lined case
the way medieval monks slept inside their coffins.
But it doesn't  meditate on death; it has already died,
and barely remembers sunlight, water, the wind among the branches.
It lies there in the dark, feeling all through its graceful curves
the memory of a hundred years of music,
and sometimes dreaming of heaven: the Bach suites.
Taken out to be played, it knows that by itself it is nothing,
that it would be incapable of producing a single note
even if it were a Stradivarius.
So it gladly assents to having its strings tightened,
painful though this is; it wants to be perfectly in tune,
stretched to its utmost but not straining.
When it feels ready, it leans back and waits
for the bow to be drawn across,
for the resonance to fill it completely.
 ~ Stephen Mitchell
from Parables and Portraits


Mystic Meandering said...

Oh I just love this... "being played, waiting for the resonance to fill it completely." My heart melts knowing we are all being stretched and tuned, and played in our own unique way, waiting for the resonance to fill us ... And the photo is exquisite! Thank you for your "music" here :)