One day I will play the accordion up in heaven, among the clouds
One day I will play the accordion up in heaven, among the clouds. There, where the air has no weight, where sound does not hurt. I will sit within the soft whiteness, and my fingers — those trembling witnesses of earthly imperfection — will move smoothly, confidently, without fear. There my hand will not make mistakes from the neurological disorder I have , because in eternity there is no misfired impulse, no confused message between brain and muscle, no clash between will and body. There everything becomes pure intention, an endless flow of sound and light, a complete merging between what I want and what I can . I see myself holding the accordion — that strange instrument suspended somewhere between breath and prayer. Each opening of its folds is like inhaling the sky , each closing — exhaling the light . Perhaps this is the prayer I’ve always searched for. Not the one spoken aloud, but the one the body whispers when the mind gives up control. There, above, perfection is...
