52 Thoughts: The Blues of My Freedom

The way my life has been treated the last few months maybe just be an indication of what is to come. I keep hearing singing. A cacophony of voices swaying me into subjection towards a new rhythm of life. 

Social distancing meant to flatten the curve. No…reduce the burden on hospitals. No…create time to find a vaccine. Singing. A cacophony of voices designed to sway me into subjection towards a new rhythm of life. A life where my decisions are done to the rapid beats of masks and without N95 or cloth material, shame. Shame played on the slow keys of a piano. Shame sung slowly as the bow creates a moan on the bass.

I hear angels above me sing, “This is for the good of all!” 
Singing powerfully from the dark and grey skies of my mind.   

I thought just maybe I could escape the blues of my life in the one place the voices of angels could not sing. It would be the one place I could escape the chorus of shame, isolation, and manipulation. Yet I could not find my refuge. I could not enter the doors of the one place I was told for years, “Those angels have no power in this place, over its beliefs, and practices.” The voices of angels sang loud, “You can not worship here.” In the next verse, the angels sang louder, “You can worship here but in this way.” 

I hear angels above me sing, “This is for the good of all!” 
Singing powerfully from the dark and grey skies of my mind.  

This whole situation makes me wanna holler because how my life has been done. So I am relegated to the blues right now. These angels offer me some song about the “good of all,” manipulating me to dance when I don’t hear a good rhythm to move my feet. 

If this song is so amazing then why do I feel trapped, shamed, and isolated? If this song is so amazing, offered by the voice of angels, then should I not feel a sense of joy? Where did my blue skies go? Where did the brilliant colors of reds and oranges which painted a western sunset disappear? 

I realize my only defense from the song of angels is the blues of my freedom. I need to sing a song that has a depth of sadness with a thread of joy. I will need to sing my blues, no, write my blues regarding my freedom and doing so, I will paint a ribbon in the dark and grey skies of mind. 

I know one thing,

“A change is gonna come…”
​(Sam Cooke, A Change is Gonna Come)