There’s a line from one of my favorite songs, where the artists cries, “Bring my heart to the piano, and let it sing for you.”

I may not have a piano, or music that hums through my veins the same way, but there will always be words. My keyboard brings apart the notes, lets harmony pull forth in the midst of all that is unhappy and unbeautiful and untrue.

Did you know, this is the first time I’ve really examined my keyboard, studied the odd symbols we use to categorize our emotions, trying to explain the personhood that is us that the universe touches? Look at these symbols. Look at them upside down, left to right, right to left, up to down, even that is art, even that is showing you the storms, the torrents that pull through the tide of human character, of human experience and passion and light.

These words: say them out loud to yourself. I am a person of light and love, of darkness and hate, and the balance between—did you see, there, the word balance teeters, it wobbles, because even it does not know which way will tip further today, tomorrow, yesterday.

I am a creature of light and love, of darkness and hate, and sometimes the balance is difficult to contain or understand. There are traps everywhere, too “lofty” for me to realize what they are, but there are even loftier conveyances, these truths that belong. Here! Belong. BE-LONG. Does this word not feel what it means? I can feel the scattered puzzle pieces of my mind align when I hear the word belong. It fills my whole heart.

There are loftier conveyances, conveyances of truth. What is true? This is a question none can answer in full, but as I type I hear the words of Samwise Gamgee ringing in my head: Is everything sad going to come untrue?

And as I think this, I consider all the sad things. Now, sad is a word that seems too light for its heavy burden of meaning. Sssaad. Sad, Sad. Too short to measure grief or pain or anything. No wonder we pass it around as a joke: “That’s sad,” “Yes it is haha.”

We need to preserve and nurture our words before we lose them all to newspeak.

But back to all the things that will be made untrue. The awful things, the wrenching things. The painful sharp stabs, the oozing ones that never seem to clot, or heal.

You know the ones. I won’t waste words.

Shame that bows the head and clouds the feet from their path. Anger that reddens the eyes. Greed that eats the golden heart and makes the body heavy all the same. “All of us have secrets in our lives” our truths that we cannot express ever fully, through piano or words paint canvascodingexperimentshelphelphelp

These are the sad things that will be made untrue, until they are forgotten altogether. The creatures of light and love will dance, their passions will spring forth from every pore, alive in the Person who made them.

“And so we beat on,” eternally preparing for eternity and the Sun.