Canto – Page 2 – collecting shells on the beach

Fine art painting. In a bedroom, a tiny baby lies swaddled and asleep in a wooden, rocking cradle. Bending over the child is an angel robed in a luxurious copper robe; her hair is rich brown; her feathered wings are iridescent blue, teal, and copper. She holds a gold-trimmed casket in her hands like an gift, and gazes at the baby serenely, perhaps thoughtfully. Behind the child, next to its cradle, is its parents' four-poster bed: the bedcovers are a colourful geometric pattern; green curtains surround it. On the other side of the bed is a woman in a dark blue dress and a white headscarf, making some sort of toy with her fingers. She doesn't seem to notice the angel's presence. — “The Gift That Is Better Than Rubies” (1899) by Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1872-1945).

Fine art painting of a mediaeval scene. A young girl kneels in a garden of flowers inside a castle. She is dressed like a royal princess -- a blue gown with long sleeves, a colourful sash, and a headdress fixed by a little tiara. An angel-child stands next to her, robed in white, blonde head surrounded by a halo. The angel is holding the princess-girl's hand, smiling serenely, while the princess looks upon the angel with surprise and wonder. In the background, two other girl children, robed in red and blue in similar styles as the princess, look on in hushed surprise. — From “The Story of St Elizabeth of Hungary”. By Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1872-1945).

“Maids of Elfen-Mere”, Dante Gabriel Rosetti

Engraving. Three maidens in plain white robes stand in a circle. Each holds in her left hand a spool of thread or hair; in her right hand the end of the thread attached to a spindle. A young man in a dark tunic sits at their feet: his face is turned away from them, his expression grim. Together, the three women chant some unheard incantation over the youth. — “Maids of Elfen-Mere”. By Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882); engraved by the Dalziel Brothers; published 1855.

I hear a sound.

It is music, silver and bright like shards of glass scattered in the sun. It is swift like running water; it is ever going somewhere, rushing and flowing and racing; fell like a dragon, or proud like a stallion, or mighty like a raging torrent. It is both bright like glittering swords, and dark as summer thunderheads. It is going somewhere – the future is its destination, and it is calling me to join also.

In my consciousness the music explodes like stars going nova, and the sight is so radiant and beautiful that it makes my heart ache, while tears blot out my vision, in the presence of such beauty.

Oh – I cannot resist it, its voice is too beautiful and so fell; the siren that cries, Come to me.

This is the sound of the future, and who can resist the future? It means leaving the old behind, forsaking it for the new and the unknown.

Perhaps this is what the Call is like – that sweet and achingly beautiful voice that is so fatal, that the People cannot resist. It is radiant, it makes all things new and bright. Beyond the brightness is the unknown, and what does it conceal?

The music encompasses me.

I feel the cavernous reverberation beneath my feet, the lightning shards glittering, and the towering lofty constructs twining into a sold wall, and the soaring chords like explosions of light – higher, higher and faster, and brighter, we go.

I go.

—30 June 2008. The music still rings in my ears, majestic, puissant, irresistible.