Good morning all. This is Your Morning Briefing for Sunday, January 22, 2012.
There’s really not much left of the morning as I write this, but I wanted to wait and tell you about my Sunday morning with Suzanne. I had planned on not sending one of these morning briefings out today at all, but the scene I encountered this morning was so special for me, and I wanted to get it down and share it with somebody. That’s the effect Suzanne’s presence here has on me. I’m slowly coming to realize that is part of the reason she’s here in the first place.
I had asked her, shortly after she got here and moved in, what she was doing here. She had looked at me then with those sparkling green eyes that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside and, with a brief answer said, “One day you will know, and when I’m sure you know, I’ll be gone.” Not much help there, but I’ve learned to accept what she says, hoping it will become more clear with time.
I awoke early this morning to the sound of Suzanne playing a pan flute. At first, in the darkness of my bedroom, I thought I had left the CD player on, but then realized even if I did, I don’t have any pan flute CD’s. The music that came drifting into my bedroom was as pure as the finest honey, and it seemed to drip in long, wonderful, golden streams from the ceilings and walls and envelop me with its melody.
I got up, threw on my sweats and, as quietly as I could, walked out from the bedroom to the living/dining area where I found Suzanne at the end of the butcher block, eyes closed, swaying slowly, a look of rapture on her face, which told me she was lost in the music she was making by breathing life into the tubes of that ancient instrument.
Then, as my eyes adjusted to the dark of this early January morning, I saw something I shall never forget. Bailey and Brandy were sitting on the floor, side by side, and staring, as if transfixed, at the chair where I see Suzanne sitting with her flute. I thought, “My god, they see and hear her as I do!” Then I wondered if, perhaps, they knew each other from some distant, mystical time and the music she made was speaking to their feline hearts and souls from across a thousand years. I stood, stock still, not wishing for this scene to disappear nor the music to end.
Gradually, the music tapered off, and when the final note had faded, she lowered the pipe, stowed it in her bag and sat back, eyes aglow, with that enigmatic smile on her face and said, “Good morning my friend.” All I could muster was a “Good morning to you, and thank you that lovely wakeup call.” I then asked her if she would like to join me for coffee, candied bacon, bagels and cream cheese. She demurred, thanking me for the offer, just saying, “I prefer the green tea and scone I have with me.” I had forgotten she drinks only tea.
After the music stopped, Brandy and Bailey came out of their trance, and returned to their normal Sunday routine. It seemed to me they were somehow different, and that’s the way I looked at them the rest of the morning.
Since Suzanne had begun playing very early this morning, I came to wonder if she had slept, where she slept, and indeed whether muses slept at all. So, I asked her. Again, with that smile, all she would respond with was an answer that didn’t sound like an answer, “Have you ever wondered who colors your dreams?”
I had to admit, I had never given it a thought, but from now on I will.
After this magical and enchanting Sunday morning, I so want her to stay.
That’s your morning briefing, even though its Sunday afternoon when I hit “Send.” You know what to do next.
Take care, be well and keep in touch,