Yellow hoodies

“Childlike worship will silence the madness of those who oppose you”.  

When I was real little I used to stand on top of mountains and sing.  I used my entire body is what my parents said. Opening my mouth, probably wider than my cross bite would allow, I would belt out lyrics no four year old should know, not understanding the meaning.  And I’d raise my arms and throw them back down again. Marching and twirling with the beat. I was my own beat. I remember looking at the other peaks and thinking, hoping, someone would see me, a small speck of movement.  Or better yet, someone would hear me, a small voice singing. After a while people became accustomed to my noise, my lengthy stories, my jokes. My voice didn’t hold much weight anymore, yet it did at the same time, in places I was unaware.  But I loved to sing. I never stopped. I sang in the shower, while biking to school, on the monkey bars, while I ran. Sometimes I sing and I don’t notice I’m doing it. Clenching and unclenching my fists. Squeezing and sprawling my toes.

Music travels through your cells, coursing in your veins, bringing life and hope, something you didn’t know was missing, music restores and captivates.  Usually words are not needed. Most often they are several notes strung together to form a melody that creates wholeness in the soul.

Sometimes I feel like my own opposer, my biggest enemy is myself.  Like the person I rise up to face in the morning is just my own weary soul.  And in that split second I must choose whether I will be a sunflower or the dirt it’s buried in.  I often don’t make the right decision. But dancing, moving, beating like a child silences your own madness and I’m back to standing on a mountaintop with a yellow hoodie, belting out a song, twirling in the wind.