Music, so strange, like bells and brooks and too many cooks, it wafted towards me like morning toast fresh from the Range. Little bells shimmering…
One like the form of a Stave weaving sounds of tinkerbell trilling on the breeze.
What are you? Who are you?That speaks to me in sounds so wonderful, yet weird.
That angel voices were crooning to me in languages so beautiful, strange, and new and I understood the Word of heaven.
God speaks in wondrous ways, no earthly dictionary contains the words, they come like music on the wind. Like rain in a storm, each droplet a jewel,listen, see. But do not ask what meaning these have for me. They are felt in the silence of their coming, heard with ears no hearing have, seen with eyes not seeing. Felt without touching. They are tasted, like honey on the tongue-even when I sleep.
He is high and lifted up and his voice fills the temple, the bass drum reverberated and gates of crystal shook. Such sound that grazed heaven’s walls that sparks flew hither and yon. Isaiah’s lips were seared and heavenly coals erased all sounds, for gone were all his dones and nots , in the scorching of paper torn.
Trilling and soft jingling, sweet celestial harps, came silently into his ears, “who will go for us?”
“Send me! I will go for you”. Isaiah’s lips were closed but sweet nothings answered the harp in joyful fear,
Then God said to him, “Make the minds of these people dull, their ears deaf, and their eyes blind, so that they cannot see or hear or understand. If they did, they might turn to me and be healed.” -with my silent music in their souls.