It whispers on the winds of heaven, hardly perceptible, I know I heard it, where did it go, this music, this sound. I heard the voice of a song. Was it someone lovingly stroking the strings of a violin, caressing the ivory keys. My heart awoke from its slumber as the soft hum reached into my innermost being or is that where it began. I was not aware of my sleeping heart until the song and the music became one. I listen again, waiting in anticipation for its healing balm. Tender, sweet anointed sounds from another realm where glory resides untouched, undefiled, too profound for earthly ears. The song and the music can only be heard by the listening heart fine tuned to receive its anthem. Heaven cannot be heard amid the chaos and clatter, the noise and the clamour, certainly not by the racing heart, the bitter heart, the cluttered mind overwhelmed with earthly cares.
The first Voice was a sound, the sound, the first sound, the sound of many waters, beyond time, beyond space. From where, from nowhere, from every where, from eternity enveloping the darkness and the chaos, gathering the beginning and the end into the now. Recreating itself, filling the void. The Source of sound drawing all things into being, a holy symphony of vibrating energy.
The music of heaven is always, it belongs in eternity, never quiet, has no beginning and no end. It is found in the secret place, abiding under the shadow of the Almighty, on the wings of eagles, the Holy of Holies, on the Mercy seat. It is in the Word coming forth to create that which is not yet. In the groan heard on the Cross, in the grief of the Father longing to bring many sons home. It is bought forth by the saints weeping between the porch and the altar, poured out upon the earth bringing with it the holy perfumed incense of the persecuted ones, offered before the throne, gathered into one sound.
The first Voice was a sound, the sound, the first sound, the sound of many waters, beyond time, beyond space. From where, from nowhere, from every where, from eternity enveloping the darkness and the chaos, gathering the beginning and the end into the now. Recreating itself, filling the void. The Source of sound drawing all things into being, a holy symphony of vibrating energy.
The music of heaven is always, it belongs in eternity, never quiet, has no beginning and no end. It is found in the secret place, abiding under the shadow of the Almighty, on the wings of eagles, the Holy of Holies, on the Mercy seat. It is in the Word coming forth to create that which is not yet. In the groan heard on the Cross, in the grief of the Father longing to bring many sons home. It is bought forth by the saints weeping between the porch and the altar, poured out upon the earth bringing with it the holy perfumed incense of the persecuted ones, offered before the throne, gathered into one sound.
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