Reconsidering

It’s supposed to be a lullaby, believe it or not. I know this, because of the lyrics.

Behold the lion— specifically, the male lion. Laden with a reputation for being overtly contrary, the mere expression of his face suggests he was the coiner of the phrase “Don’t start nothing, won’t be nothing.” His walk is one of surveillance, certain that trouble is afoot, clear that something will have to be done about that, confident that he’ll be the one doing the doing. 

Given this reputation for turbulent vigilance, it would require unusual circumstances to find a male lion at rest. The jungle is a constant bevy of competing interests, certainly not a place where one could enjoy a cozy night with their pipe and slippers. Finding a male lion in repose would certainly be cause for paws— er, pause.

And that is the point of the song. My child, you say you can’t sleep, that your head is troubled, and your soul is restless. Yet throughout where we live, and even in the ever-active dormitory that is the jungle, things are so at ease that even the lion— that impressive mixture of watchman and hellraiser— sleeps tonight. So rest well.

Nothing about the popular version of this song suggests it’s a lullaby. But it is. Listen to this.

No, really. I’ll wait.

For years, millions of Americans have been clapping, dancing, and slapping their dashboards in rhythm to a song that really has no rhythm, never bothering to consider where a review of the lyrics might lead. That would be understandable if this was one of those popular songs where articulation is missing (‘scuse me will I kiss this guy”). But the words are clear, even if their purpose is not.  Seeing a different context means everything.

A traveler in 18^th century France came across a small village where they were building a church, one of those monumental structures that took generations to finish, one that gives us pause considering how it was built without electricity or modern technology.  He arrived at the village at the end of the work day, making it to the building site to find just a few workers still at their tasks.

“Excuse me” he said to the first worker, “what are you doing?”

The worker sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.  “I’m the master builder, and we had a terrible day.  Several workers didn’t show up today, some supplies have run low, and I’m just not sure what we’ll be able to get accomplished the rest of the week.”

As the master builder sighed again, the traveler went a little farther into the church, where he found another worker.  “Excuse me” he said, “what are you doing?”

He was greeted by this worker with another sigh.  “I’m the chief architect” he said.  “I’m supposed to place the flying buttresses tomorrow.  But in looking at these plans, I’m not sure well be able to put then in according to this design.”

The traveler moved more deeply n to the work site, where he found a third worker.  This one was stooped over a broom, and was sweeping slowly, but with intent.

“Excuse me” the traveler said, “but what are you doing?”

The worker looked up and smiled, a bright gleam in her eyes.  “I’m building a church for the glory of God.”

If you’re now wondering “Gee, what else is out there I think I know, but really don’t know?”, don’t worry. It will out itself in time, so long as you keep paying attention, and revel in the wonder of wondering.

January Snow

New fallen flakes make
Snowglow
Which lies in wait til darkness
Then
Pushing its way past nonlapping shades
Gives bedrooms lumens
That bring to mind 
Bright April breezes
The high noon of a weenie roast
That odd mix of wind and warmth that is
October.

The first month lasts a murky eternity you say?
Behold 
The nights requiring you 
To ponder a brightness
Like midnight suns
Or simply
Wear Oakleys 
To bed.

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