One Song

Focused in its nature, thematic in expression. Central, intrinsic, permanent, though not static. Unmoving, but not unbending. 

There is something in each of us fitting this description. A force we all hold but unique to each one. You may have unearthed it on your own, or maybe not. Others may see it more clearly than you do, but it is there. In the core of who you are play central themes, ringing out familiar tunes over and again. Often, there is one song singing louder than the others. 

But what is it? 

One of my favorite authors is John O’Donohue, Irish poet and priest. He spoke of this idea from the angle we typically first see our song from. We often first see it as a flaw. We often first see it as something undesirable. That thing, inseparable from who we are, may be the very thing we feel needs to be surgically removed, expelled, or expunged. It may be the thing we loathe about ourselves. It may be the thing that causes us to hate who we are or hate living life. 

I will tell you what mine is. It haunts me and at times seems to want to drown me. I cannot beat it any more than I can escape it. It is the thorn in my flesh of which I have pleaded be taken away, yet it remains. I have wrestled it by the river and walked away limping. Its defeat, it seems, is my own demise for it would take me down with it. It is this: I harbor in the crevices of my soul a profound and enduring sadness. Its melody is low and mournful, with minor chords and lamenting harmonies. Its colors are those of the brewing, threatening storm in spring with deep grays, blues, and eerie greens. I cannot stop its swirling and I cannot stop being drawn to it.

O’Donohue writes, “In the end, every artist is haunted by a few central themes. Again and again, they return to the threshold of that disturbance and endeavor to excavate something new. This is the magnetic draw at the heart of the wound, the secret force of a silent hunger whose infinite longing is to find its unique voice” (Beauty: The Invisible Embrace).

This “infinite longing,” this unquenchable thirst I believe comes from a God-implanted hope. He made us to seek Life and Truth, and to seek them in the ultimate sense… so that we would “seek him and… find him” (Acts 17:27). There is something in that “magnetic draw” that leads us to the Father.

This sadness encased in me is not a flat thing. It is not only sadness. If I hold my gaze steady and refuse my feet the urgency of running away, I can look at what this sadness camouflages. I can see through it to what it conceals. Held within its casing is sorrow’s absolute antithesis. Joy unspeakable is folded up inside, concentrated and purified, though buried. The curse of the outer coverings of this world wrap around the truth of joy and disguise it as something contrary to what it is. 

I know this to be true. I have felt the emergence of this joy from my cloisters of sorrow. Though fleeting, I have known its immenseness. Joy is what the Father placed in me and what I cannot keep away from, though I usually don’t see it as such. I usually don’t experience that side of my melody; my weeping, mournful song. When I am able to listen and able to hear, the most rapturous of songs plays. When I stop fighting this thing I say is misery and instead allow my Father to simply love me – despair included, sorrow turns ever so slightly, though incredibly dramatically, and joy’s beauty reverberates. 

Truth draws us in to take a second look.

Though sorrow is joy’s concealer, it does not mean sorrow is an empty mask. It holds its own weight. There is great sadness in this world. There is tremendous grief. Tears are from a very real and powerful place. They are born from the embedded understanding that this is not how life was intended to be. Joy in place of sorrow was the initial intent and plan. Joy’s restoration as the sustaining breath we breathe is our hope and our destiny. Our pains are very real, and thankfully, they are also temporary, but joy is very real also. And we know the magnification contrast provides. Without sorrow, would joy be so full?

My one song is this: sadness contrasts with joy and enlivens it, giving both aspects greater impact and significance. The one theme of my writing and my art is this: look beyond what is evident and observed to what is hidden and potential. My one hope is to find the Father in all things.

What song do you hear?