Songs come to me like dandelion puffs. “Oh there’s one, where did that come from?”
I pick up my guitar, my hands play with some sort of muscle memory from years of bending my fingers into chord shapes. My foot stomps the floor until it surrenders a groove and then I babble…Oh my baby..she never looks like.. oh baby baby…and babble some more …if you could have seen me then …I just rolled out of bed…we all spill one color red.
What was that? I like that line! “We all spill one color red “Is that what I am writing about? I hear bells. Disclosure…there is little bell that goes off in my head when I feel that I am onto something. I didn’t install the bell and I can’t find the pull chord to ring it at will, but it is my master and I am Pavlov’s Dog when I hear it.
It’s not pretty yet, this “one color red “it’s just a dandelion puff. But it is chock full of seeds and the bell is loud! Now the work begins.
This is the way it has always been for me. Pick up the guitar, be present and listen for the bell.
No bell? No worries. Pick up the guitar again tomorrow.
Sure, I could write a song if you gave me a title and subject. Lots of people do it and some people do it really well. I have been at this for some time now, and I could probably deliver a passable song. Even one with a few catchy rhymes and lines. For me though, it always sounds too “crafted” or too “labored over”. No bell.
I’ll wait.
Until something deep inside of me just out of reach of my awareness is poking me in the ribs trying to get my attention. Something true and beautiful that wants to be heard above the babble. I don’t claim to understand it or even have the need to. But I do trust it.
“Man plants a seed, and the seed cracks open, the rain comes down and asks no questions
Burnin’ in the heat, of his hopes his dreams, the sun beats down and asks no questions”
We all spill One Color Red
And the rain don’t fall on one man’s head
Look at me from the inside out
We all spill One Color Red”
One Color Red video
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aakczn0n_kk
