Drift

Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott...

...and as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott. ~Lord Tennyson

I wish I could lie down in a boat and drift away.

Perhaps not to the tragic end that Tennyson's Camelot-based heroine found, but still.

The idea of lying back in a small wooden boat and floating down the river, as if in preparation for a funeral pyre being set adrift upon the shimmering surface of the water...

...it has always appealed to me.

Perhaps it is the romantic in me.

Maybe I am more like Anne of Greene Gables than I would like to admit.

Perhaps it is the tranquility of the journey itself.

Being surrounded by nothing but the whispers of the flowing water and the soft trills of songbirds in the trees, the gentle swaying of the boat lulling me into a state of peaceful sleep...

...what writer would not wish for such an adventure?

What poet would not be drawn to such a picture?

Oh, what dreams linger in such magical ideas.

So now I will lie down in my bed, close my eyes...

...and allow my mind to carry me away on the rippling waters of dreams and imagined wishes.

Tonight...

...I drift away.

Soundtrack

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~Victor Hugo

I breathe music.

It's been something that I've lived on since I was a tiny girl.

With a professionally-trained musician father and a mother with the singing voice of an angel, I was steeped in musical notes and treble clefs from the time I could walk.

I credit my parents with teaching me the value of putting my life to a soundtrack.

Every great movie has a soundtrack -- a score of music, a compilation of songs, a haunting melody. These notes speak more to the drama, strength, passion, and bloodlust of each pivotal moment than any detailed explanation ever could.

My life is no exception.

Maybe this is exposing more of my own quirks than I actually want to, but even still...

My life has a soundtrack.

My mood and my iPod run on very similar veins.

The rich, earthy tones of Imogene Heap and Joshua Radin speak to the mellowness...the twinges of romantic darkness that cling to the edges of my heart.

The light daisy-petal notes of Mika, Lenka, or Yiruma speak to the brightness and melodic tone of my spirit.

The powerpunch of Skillet, Anberlin, HIM, or Plumb generally refer to a bit of leftover angst lingering after a particularly strong moment of dark emotion.

The bouncy snap of some popular Top40 hit or the swish of a Michael Buble melody generally speaks to my growing need to move my body and dance like either a mad lunatic or a measured artist -- all mood-based.

The flooding rush of Brit Nicole, Brooke Fraser, Chris Tomlin, or Aaron Shust remind me for Whom I live...a musical way to remind me that I live for the One who broke my chains and set me free.

I could go on, but I think I've conveyed the idea.

Music runs through my veins like blood, scores cover my skin like invisible tattoos, and notes flood my head like flocks of brilliantly-hued butterflies over a dew-dusted meadow.

Music says what I can't. It screams when I have to be silent. It laughs for me when all I can do is cry, and it unveils those hidden corners of my soul that hurt too much to reveal.

So at the moments, when the echoes are screaming and the pain is flooding my lungs, threatening to drown me...

...I let the music breathe for me.

“'Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion! For behold, I am coming and I will dwell in your midst,'” says the LORD." ~Zechariah 2:10