Able to speak only in words.

Maybe I’m living in a musical composition. Life taking on a rhythm. Because I’m a writer, life seems so very much like a novel. An unfolding story. Being lived page by page. Chapter by chapter. But why not a piece of music? Yesterday, I was humming a tune. Unconsciously for a long while, I suspect. And suddenly  I became aware. That it had a pleasant rhythm to it. Not a tune or melody that I recognized. And I thought,  I’m living a tune or melody all my own.  Without knowing it. Because I wasn’t consciously plugged in. Wasn’t listening to the rhythm of life. Can’t sing. Can’t carry a tune. Can’t dance. But able to inwardly feel and love sounds of certain music. Classical. Even as a baby and an adolescent. Mozart. Beethoven. Haydn. And certain obscure composers.   But now I was humming. Beautifully. An unfamiliar melody. I can’t now vocally repeat it. Though I can feel it. In my soul.  I don’t have the physical ability to create it for others to hear. Only I can hear it.  When I’m walking. Alone. In solitude. I’m  riding a spiritual wave of music. I’m gonna try to keep listening. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. To a new language.  Without words. A strange but delightful language. Maybe the language spoken in the spiritual realm. Only heard when one’s spirit transcends the physical. Maybe that’s why I can’t repeat it. I’m back on Mother Earth.  Able to speak only in words.  –Jim Broede