May I let my voice be a clarion call. I will use these words for justice. I will use these words for truth. And humour.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013


An Angel's Dream of Singing

(5:30 am, Wednesday March 27, 2013)

I went down into this subterranean subway-like space where scores of people had gathered to sing:

"Oh I believe in Jesus…" (repeating for hundreds of times each praise session, like Catholic Evangelicals approaching to be seraphim)

(repeat 4 bars 100+ times, or fade)
1.1  1.2   1.3   1.4  2.1 2.2  2.3  2.4   3.1   3.2   3.3   3.4   4.1   4.2   4.3   4.4    5.1     

9        10  9         5  7                   -3  2   0                                                      5      
A        Bb A         F  G                  A* D  C                                                       F      
I          be-lieve  in  Je------         e- e- sus."                               Oh,… 
(that's a pick-up note going into the repeat)
(syncopated/accented mixolydian, whodathunk?) *this note can vary, including "0" "9" or a WIDE variety of others

(In the absence of piano or guitar, this web app saved me here this morning:
And during the session I kept practicing and practicing and getting taller, until I was freakishly able to reach with my hands to the ceiling of the subway space.  I recall even then that there were some Japanese elder masters who were able to sing a baritone with such rich timbres throughout the mid range that I knew I just had to practice until I could deliver such sounds myself.

At the break, I got up and went up the stairs to go outside for a smoke break to elevate myself up a little, so my voice would be richer and I could more clearly hit the higher notes.  (The chant wasn't always in the same range -- the choir was encouraged to change octaves (or at least to cover their tone so the harmonic content shifted), and at the beginning, we had done warm-up exercises advancing the phrase a whole-or-half-step higher.)
I got outside and saw some leaves that had fallen, it was mid-early October.  I began to sing the words like the timbre of each of the leaves, depending on the shape, texture, size, and maturation of the leaves.  Little round leaves sounded high and clear bell tones.  Elm leaves and poplar leaves were mid-range with a soft fuzz.  Oaks and Maples were just beautiful and rich.
Then I began to fly.  The scene was like a 1960's version of Oakland, slightly more suburban and park-y, like downtown Saint Paul as I remember it with my Great Aunts Olga and Thalia.

I was flying low over a group of people in their neighborhood, who were suffering and called out for blessings.  I reached down my hands and blessed each I could touch, and blessed all the rest with a wide wave of my hand.  

As I continued flying across the city, I realized to myself: now I am able to fly this way, I can sing, and I can bless.  What else is left?
"Ooh child, things are gonna get easier…."  (I've had that stuck in my head for several days, after watching a video shared on FB by my angel friend Crystal.)
Then I happened across a collection of leaves of all kinds glued together to form a bird wing.  In my excitement, I ripped it apart to examine the individual leaves.  I was sad at my mistake, and as many of them blew away, I began running to try and find them.  They blew behind houses, and many were lost in the wind.

Blessings and gratitude,

"May we trespass together into prophetic imagination." -Rev. Karen Tse


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