Angel Song
Monday, April 30th, 2007My guardian angel, whom i fondly call The Angel Shprengtot, has been singing to me a lot in recent weeks.
Two sundays ago, i saw some beggars in front of The Manila Cathedral. One set of beggars included a mother and an infant who was ostensibly her child. Madonna and child archetype.
Struck a chord in me — Fm-M7 (6/9), by the sound of it.
Being neither naive nor foolish, i decided against giving them money.
Money given to street beggars often goes to crime syndicates. The children begging "mothers" often brandish in the faces of the unsuspecting are often not really the beggars’ offspring, just children farmed out and exploited to push mercy and guilt buttons in the naive and sheltered.
I instead elected to buy the beggars some lunch. Went to a Chow King fastfood restaurant across the road and bought them some food.
While waiting for the food i’d ordered, i noticed another street waif — an undernourished boy sporting fresh scars on both arms and one leg — outside Chow King.
Dowggie senses perceived a battered but defiant dignity in the boy-child. "Yes, i’m dirt poor, his eyes seemed to say. "But i will not grovel. I’m still standing, and i will fight to the bitter end."
Struck another chord in me.
Bb7#11, to venture a musiko’s educated guess.
Bought another pack of Chow Fan rice.
Gave the meals to James Dean’s reincarnation (or younger brother) outside Chow King and to Madonna and Child outside The Manila Cathedral.
I then noticed the infant’s bare, lice-infested, scarred head and his unshod baby feet. Gave the "mother" my one remaining face towel. Couldn’t bear the thought of an infant subjected to the elements that way.
Against the tenets of good sense and street-honed cynicism, i pulled out my wallet and handed over some money to buy the child some slippers.
I know, i know… the money was as good as in the hands of criminal syndicates at that point. But f_ck it…
The Angelsong keening in my ears at that point would not be denied.
The Angel Shprengtot sang to me in those beautiful moments.
I kinda mean that literally.
What i call The Angelsong is a high, keening tone that resonates… and my soul is as a guitar string quivering in the hands of The Sacred Samting.
Random acts of kindness seem to trigger The Angelsong.
It’s what we hear when we eschew what is easy and choose to do what is right.
It’s the song which drove Don Quixote to tilt at windmills. The song that fueled both Cyrano de Bergerac’s witty swordplay and his rapier wit.
The song which bids wolves to bay at the moon.
To hear The Angelsong is to glimpse home. The home from whence we come. The home to which we return.
(… and come and return and come and return….)
Home is, of course, the Cmaj9#11 to which the aforementioned Fm-M7(6/9) and Bb7#11 resolve.
Cmaj7 moves to a Gm7 - C7 cadence, which then leads to an Fmaj7, which in turn morphs bittersweetly into Fm-M7 then pirouettes into Bb7#11 before leading back to Cmaj7#11.
Tension - resolution. Birth - death. Resolution - tension. Death - rebirth.
Love is the absence of fear.
Fear none, love all.
All is one. One is all.
Praise be.
Such is The Song of The Universe.
But if you meet Coltrane on the road, kill him!
Love, light, peace,
c",)
