Musical Musings 5/20/2016

Evening Musings: 

I’ve been staring out the window at night a lot, of late. The sky replete with her wondrous and vivid mysteries. Our clandestine meetings…. Playing coy with her shades, her colors,  muted, but breathtaking. Teasing. Beckoning. Speaking.  What will she tell me, tonight? 

The moon shouted my name across a cloud,  reaching me as a whisper,  saying things; haunting things; beautiful things. “What is music? “, I dared ask. It was the question on my mind. A star twinkled, and made a discernible sound- the voice of a small child’s glorious giggle, peeking around the seemingly vanished embers of the sun. 

“You tell me?” The voice searing lightly across  constellations had countered. I searched my cerebral Thesaurus. I needed intelligent, mystical verbiage for this conversation,  but nothing. “Come on! You’re smarter than this”, Crystal said to Cryss. I acquiesced, thinking, “maybe not”.  The thing I love, the thing I crave,  the thing that is…. I can’t find the words. The lexicon I’ve loved had failed me. 

A silent and melodic breeze played my vertical blinds like Brahms’ Lullaby. Lillith perched angrily by, a silenced Banshee, still stewing over the one she couldn’t get. The one covered in the Blood. 

It started in my chest.  A tickling,  as buzzing sensation. Working its way through every nerve,  every pore, every fiber; bone, cartilage,  sinew-  flowing like liquid joy.

You see, I was singing all along. We were singing a harmonious duet.  Ah, sky,  there’s your answer.  See you tomorrow night.

Vizionairee Jones-2016

The Wordless Writer 

Years ago, in the late 80’s, I wrote two lines of a poem, of which I never completed.  I had writer’s block. Once in a blue, I’d run across it and think,” Will I ever finish?”, and if not, “What ever would I need with a two line poem?” Here goes:

I am no longer a Writer 

A maker of velvet phrases…


Yup, that’s it. 

Fast-forward to this evening,  4/12/2017. I watched a documentary entitled, “13th”, Directed and Produced by Ava DuVernay. There’s ALWAYS a use for poetry.

Writer’s Block and Grace

​I’ve been trying to write for days. Song, poem, chapter, web content …. My name…. NOTHING!  Late last night, I was inspired by a phrase, during a conversation, and knocked out a few stanzas, but no more. (Thx, JB).

I’ve been feeling independently of my senses, of late. I CAN’T STAND THAT! It’s like being numb and still feeling pain. ANYWAYS….

This morning, I wandered through my home, quietly praying, asking God what He wanted me to do and, moreover, if the answer was right before me. Earlier, I shared a black and white photo of people lined up at the Baltimore City Jail to post bail, for those arrested during the 1968 riots. I engaged in a conversation with someone about why we don’t see lines like that to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, PTA or Council meetings, etc. I also questioned whether or not I would line up for those things.

Heck, we don’t really even read anymore, we skim for specific words, to get the gist, etc. Wonder why we keep looking to the left, and the knockout punch is coming from the right. Honestly.

It really stuck with me, that photo. Men in suits, ladies in dresses and heels… Pride, commitment, sacrifice. I began to wonder if there weren’t some in line to pay bail for a neighbor, a cousin, someone they didn’t really know. Would I?

Back to the stroll around the house. (OK, I ate Thanksgiving leftovers, while contemplating). More thoughts of what an I supposed to be doing, in the greater scheme of the Kingdom of God. Then, I said “Cryss, if you can’t write, just read.” Enter Max Lucado “Shaped By Grace”. It was given to me as a gift, by a wonderful woman of valour, and I’d already read it, cover to cover. What a great blessing. I popped it open right to these passages:

***The meaning of life. The wasted years of life. The poor choices of life. God answers the mess of life with one word: grace.

We talk as if we know what grace means. Especially at Church. Grace graces the songs we sing and the Bible verses we read… Hymns proclaim it. Preachers explain it…

But do we really understand it?

… We’ve settled for a wimpy grace. It… never causes trouble or demands a response.

Have u been changed by grace? Shaped By Grace? Emboldened by grace? Softened by grace? Snatched by the nape of your neck and shaken to your sense by grace? 

… God’s grace comes after you. It rewrites you. From insecure to God secure. From regret-riddled to better-because-of-it….

Grace is the voice that calls us to change and then gives us the power to pull it off! (Lucado).

Back to the photo. Well, grace got me focused this morning. It said, “Cryss, it’s not that you can’t write, but you’re not writing what God needs you to write, right now.” Huh? Gwen Ifill’s legacy; your love for Journalism; the fact that you prefer writing to typing/texting, etc.; the fact that you still have stamps and envelopes, and you write to people; the fact that you love to read and research (find the facts); the fact that you feel the sprit of everyone in that picture;  the fact that every elected official had a USPS address, and you’re a hyper puppy, when writing (can u say bulk mail?); that you ALWAYS say a well-written and articulate letter can be very effective…. WOW! RIGHT IN MY FACE.

I may not be able to stand in a line, YET (beat it, fibro), but I have more pens and pads of paper than normal, an internet connection, a STELLAR BCC education,. SUPER intelligent and gifted folks all around me, and a heart for humanity. All that, AND GRACE…. It’s on.

Thank you, Lord, for not only giving me purpose and grace and mercy, but for renewing it daily.

There are too many issues out there that need to be tackled. If I can write a long post like this, or a funny joke, or post a news story I’m outraged about, it’s time I get into action. 

My action may not be there same as yours. Maybe you’ll go to council meetings, maybe you serve on the board of a change agency, maybe you have money to donate (DON’T FORGET #USA4Cryss lol), maybe you mentor and coach, maybe show up at schools regularly, randomly; not to police, but help…I don’t know, but it’s time for ME to stop letting the buck stop here in my Facebook feed. Care to join me? I’ve got plenty of writing utensils. Love u guys.

P.S. If I “disappear”, or anything else funky sounding, I finally wrote the right letter. FIND THE STORY. 😉