dear nicole

Hi. I hope you’re OK, even though I know you’re not. Which, I suppose, is the point of hoping.

We’re still at Kellie’s house, at least till the chocolate croissants run out, which shouldn’t take long.

Kellie and I were talking yesterday when she mentioned my blog’s recurring references to “prophets.” I think she looks upon prophets in the biblical sense. I tend to put “prophet” before anyone I quote. I’m not sure she likes that.

So I explained. Poetry and songs can be prophecy. You hear or read something, you stash it away in your memory, and it comes to mind years later in a way you never would have thought of when you first heard or read it.

For me, songs are a lot like the Bible. Words that transcend what the author wrote, providing signs and solace and advice and inspiration, your own interpretation that can be completely different from what the author intended.

You know what Kellie’s house is like. Calligraphy sayings are everywhere, and many of them are Bible verses. But tucked in among old and new testament wisdom is this one:

“Take these broken wings and learn to fly.”

It was written by a prophet from Liverpool named Paul. It’s a song about civil rights and a random bird whose call he heard in India. But that one lyric in Kellie’s artwork on the wall in her home says so much more.

Maybe that’s what the butterflies and owls and crows we’ve been encountering are trying to tell us. How can you go on with life after such a tragedy? You’re feeling so broken.

You do what you must, the prophet McCartney says. Take these broken wings and learn to fly. That’s all you can do. It’s what she would want you to do.

Today’s the first day. You must learn. You WILL learn.

Never doubt a prophet …

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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