Soul

After hearing "Nothing But a Miracle" for the first time, I was hooked on Diane Birch. Her voice seemed to transcend me to a different era, one where music is the only means of communication from soul to soul. Recently while mindlessly applying to jobs, I put on Bible Belt and let the whole album play through. When this particular song came to an end, I scooped up the remote and replayed it again. And again. And again. As she strikes the opening keys on the organ-like piano, it blankets a calming sensation over me. Her voice, well, it speaks for itself. I give you "Ariel."

"I've been cryin' on the pillow where you lie
For the past, for the future and everything in between.
Oh, does it hurt more to lose you or hurt more to love you baby?
Or does it hurt more to look at you on my screen?

Am I a fool to think I know you well?
Do we see the same stars?
Cause sometimes, baby, those green eyes just don't tell."

Lesson to Make a Guitar Weep

Isn't it a pity
Now, isn't it a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other's love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Isn't it a pity

Some things take so long
But how do I explain
When not too many people
Can see we're all the same
And because of all their tears
Their eyes can't hope to see
The beauty that surrounds them
Isn't it a pity

Isn't it a pity
Isn't is a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other's love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Isn't it a pity

Forgetting to give back
Isn't it a pity
Forgetting to give back
Now, isn't it a pity

What a pity

Ordinary Magic

"While the astronauts, heroes forever, spent mere hours on the moon, I have remained in this new world for nearly thirty years. I know that my achievement is quite ordinary. I am not the only man to seek his fortune far from home, and certainly I am not the first. Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room which I have slept. As ordinary as it appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination." -Jhumpa Lahiri, Interpreter of Maladies, "The Third and Final Continent"

There is a slightly magical connection I can make with this quote. As I closed in on the final sentence, I knew at that point that I should not become disheartened by paths that may seem misleading at the time. For they are not leading me astray, and ultimately will guide me towards the path of my life. My. Life.

Moonstruck

A cityscape's twinkle
only glistens
as flecks of starlight
and pools of moonlight
flood the night sky.

Sade

It's been a long time coming, but she's back and more ready than ever to rock millions of people's worlds. Sade is going on tour this summer and I'm fortunate enough to attend her Charlotte show in July. Seeing as she's had a 10-year hiatus with a studio album, it only makes sense for her to go on tour after her release of Soldier of Love. Her music breaks down love, soul, and primal emotions into a language that is understandable not through thought, but heart. Whenever I feel the need to bring myself back to the basics, an urge to hit the refresh button for the soul, if you will, Sade provides that for me. She doesn't produce her music for the masses, yet it is so easily understood. Such a shame that people aren't willing to expose themselves to her, other than that slight possibility she might be playing at your local grocery store, or in an elevator, or perhaps on an easy-listening station. Give it a chance -- it may provide you insight about yourself that you'd never known before. With that said, I bid you adieu. Sade Adu.

The Sorrow of Love

The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,

The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,

And with you came the whole of the world's tears

And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,

And all the burden of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,

The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,

And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,

Are shaken with the earth's old weary cry.

-W.B. Yeats, 1891

Flow

Below is an excerpt of one of the most beautiful, picturesque illustrations from Russian writer Anton Chekhov.

"EVENING twilight. Thick flakes of wet snow were circling lazily round the newly lighted street lamps, settling in thin soft layers on rooftops, on the horses' backs, and on people's shoulders and caps. The cabdriver Iona Potapov was white as a ghost, and bent double as much as any human body can be bent double, sitting very still on his box. Even if a whole snowdrift had fallen on him, he would have found no need to shake it off. The little mare, too, was white, and quite motionless. Her immobility, and the fact that she was all sharp angles and stick-like legs, gave her a resemblance to one of those gingerbread horses which can be bought for a kopeck. No doubt the mare was plunged in deep thought. So would you be if you were torn from the plow, snatched away from familiar, gray surroundings, and thrown into a whirlpool of monstrous illuminations, ceaseless uproar, and people scrambling hither and thither."

-opening paragraph from Anton Chekhov's "Heartache," translation by Robert Payne