A Spiritually Enlightening Online Magazine. March Theme: "In Touch" Volume 1 Issue 3 ISSN# 1708-3265
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Meditate a Moment Featuring: David Reber "Symphony" I take my last few steps to stand upon the pinnacle; the wind rises to help the trees greet me with the applause of their leaves. Of course I bow - one must give proper due. And I am 'in touch'. While bowing to the elements welcoming me to my natural pulpit, I signal an acknowledging rumble from the very rocks with a low up sign of my left palm. The ocean far below manages to raise a single, monumental wave to crash deafeningly upon the sand, as though adding an exclamation to the greeting. And so with a clearing of the throat, and standing rigidly straight we begin. Both hands fly strong into the air, fists clenched, and this moment is shown loaded silence. With a strong sweep of my left hand the winds sail up through the crags and valleys of the mountainside, twisting upward to lift me free of the pinnacle in a slow spiral. The first notes of the howling winds again are softened by the gentle tones of the trees presenting their leaves into the swirling passage. A slow coaxing of both my arms brings the clouds, cottony white at first, but soon swollen and dark. Two palms up, with pulling motions from my fingers brings the waves bigger, stronger, louder… and closer. Another swirl of my arm and the winds howl even louder, while leaving me to my gentle spin, my slow survey. The clouds are directly over me now, engulfing all below in a premature twilight. My hair stands out straight in anticipation as well as charged expectancy. I raise my eyes to see the occasional spots of luminescence within the sullen clouds. The slight basso of distant thunder is experienced more by my breastbone than by hearing it over the exuberant winds. Feeling the moment to come, the trees clap their limbs together and offer instead of the gentle, soothing tones of before, exultant cries which strive to be heard above the rest gathering in the symphony. I release the lightning with the clench of my left hand, just as the thunder comes by my right. Were I standing on the pinnacle I would have been shaken to my knees. The wind increases and the trees exultantly cry as I swing my arms low, then violently raise them again, breaking the swelling waves from their bonds to crash higher and higher upon the land. Now, feeling the proper energy of the moment I point, and cry out as the earth detaches part of itself from the mountain to tumble, and fall resoundingly into the surf below. I point again and again, and the earth answers in kind. The waves join in by crashing on the new obstructions with ever-differing tones and notes. A small effort to goose them further and they crash up, then over, the newly formed cliffs, up into the trees themselves. The trees respond with further exultation, actually adding the creaking sounds of their limbs, straining against the winds. But it is time for a new movement in this symphony. My summoning hands turn over in motions of calming, motions of supplication. The waves are not entirely happy, but follow the lead of their conductor, as do the winds. I am lowered slowly, gently, to stand back again on the pinnacle. Again the trees echo the changing mood of the piece, by sending out a calming rustling, to underlie the passing into the end sequence. Under my direction, the earth again rumbles the occasional distant echo of the previous mighty avalanches, but nothing more detaches to crumble and crash below. The black clouds pass behind into the distance and along with them goes the lightning with angry thunder. Again, this time more delicately, I make sweeping motions, to get the winds to create gaps in the front, to let single rays of sunlight spot through growing mists. Finally, smiling broadly, and again coaxing, only this time timidly, softly, gently, I call forth the sounds of songbirds, the sounds of a storm past… With that I sit exhausted, upon my point, done, finished, and I cry. Then, afterwards, I start laughing. Laughing louder than anything present in the previous symphony. My moment was powerful, but is now gone. Slowly I raise myself and descend from my summit. There is no need to wish or even look ahead to the possibility of something like this ever happening again. It was too good, too sweet, too strong, to ever try to repeat.
Copyright (c) Chrissy - 2004 - pixie@paphian.org 
Hello, my name is David Reber and I currently reside in Northern Indiana. Aside from my day job of working with children, I enjoy the seclusion of my little white home in the woods. There I am afforded the quiet comfort to pursue a bit of archery and fishing along with the occasional hack attempt at writing.
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Copyright (c) 2004 by Timeless Spirit Magazine. All articles are the copyright of the particular writers and cannot be reprinted without their expressed permission. All rights reserved. International copyright laws prohibit reproduction of or distribution of this page by any means whatsoever, electronic or otherwise, without first obtaining the written permission of the copyright holder. We retain legal counsel to protect our copyrights.
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