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Ethereal cry

Music is a mystery to me. Why some music moves me and other doesn’t is an enigma. Why does Celtic music, when full of replete longing or instant and present joy move my soul? Why do songs with a gentle Caribbean drum make me want to dance? Why does Mozart rest my mind? Or a Native American flute rest my will? Or some jazz (like Billie Holiday) make me pensive? Or the arrangement of some lyrics and chords (like those of Jennifer Knapp, Emmylou Harris, or Andrew Peterson) express my soul? I can explain most literature, and why even many films move me. But music? It is one of those ethereal things. A note of eternity. A taste of time without end. But I’m glad it is. I’m glad it be. It reminds of him, of the One who calls me always home.

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