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Atmospheric Disturbances

by Terry R A Eissfeldt  
10/15/2009 / Death

Grief is a silent thief dressed in comforting, unassuming, flannel grey.

Patient to watch, wait, skulk, and hide in the corners of the soul, until the other more exuberant and demanding reactions to loss have had their say, their turn on center stage, and their way with one's mind, body and soul, Grief waits.

These pass as quickly as the departed. The loved. The lost. The life.

Raw and colorful emotions, purple rage, blue anger, and sallow selfishness, erupt and spill out of the overcrowded turmoil of sudden loss violently, unexpectedly, rudely and uncontrollably.

And then they're gone. Dissipated like a rainbow. A hint of hue may linger, but the strength and color is diminished.

Longsuffering Grief moves into the vacant space and blankets all in a thick grey fog, effectively blocking out the sun...and the Son.

Color is erased. All feeling numbed. Only dullness remains. Nothing will ever be the same.

No flower or compassionate card, however thoughtful in the offering, is received as intended.

The fog simply cannot be penetrated.

Blank. Monochromatic. Monotone. Immobile.

Just as Grief moves in for the choke hold, sensing the only hope left for the bereaved is to succumb to his iron, icy grip, a weakened hand, feeble mind and wretched soul reach out for a music book.

The dusty cover gives way to the whim of gravity as it is mindlessly thrown open.

"There's a secret I must tell
Of all the love I've found
And it's hidden in my heart
The day you tore my world apart

Hallelujah, King forever, friend and Saviour

Jesus' blood never fails me,
Jesus' blood never fails me,
Jesus' blood, Jesus' blood" *

Grief gasps as energy begins to flow, ever so faintly.

The grief-stricken one moves to the piano with shuffling feet. Passively pushing back the mahogany lid, ivory and ebony are revealed.

With eyes yet closed, tired hands move to position.

As the first key is tentatively pressed the energy exerted carries enough strength to the hammer
and on to strike the twisted wire. This sound alone is enough to reduced the firmness of Grief's grip.

Just as the first drop of warm red blood, spilled on an altar of sacrifice, begins to conquer the hold of sin, so this first note of music begins the assault on the foggy chokehold of Grief.

A chord is formed and struck. Its reverberations disturb the stagnant air.

Grief is unable to keep hold.

Softly, mixed with emotion, stained with tears, a voice slowly adds to the atmosphere its disturbing waves.

"Jesus blood never fails me......."

Suddenly the Son shines through the fog. Grey gives way to brilliance. Grief is shattered by the power of gratefulness.

Once more, washed in the crimson flood of mercy, strength and beauty, a sacrifice of praise is lifted high.

With every word sung, every note played, and every tear allowed to fall, color returns to the world. The very atmosphere is changed.

* Written by Martin Smith 1999 Curious? Music UK

Terry R A Eissfeldt
copyright 210

Article Source: WRITERS

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