Matins (A Sort of Daily Homecoming)

For years, I’ve been graced with the integrative divining tool of a “morning song:” a song in my head when I rise from sleep, which, when given attention, reveals a message, a validation, a clarification or reframing.  Sometimes the songs and the messages are clearer than others, but it works a bit like dream interpretation, speaking on many levels.  It works because, in formative years, my life was so steeped in and seeded with, music.  Sometimes these will be songs I’ve not remembered or heard for years.

As I’ve been up against core stuff lately, and leaning into it with A Course in Miracles, and, likewise, leaning into ACIM with it, I wake particularly flat, irritable and demoralized.  It used to be I woke depressed and oppressed by futility, and sleep seemed to offer solace and respite; so getting up was harder. Now, sleep holds no such mirage. I might as well get up, give it over and open to the miracle; get moving, let the water of experience –where love and guidance hides– move through my gills.

Today, somewhat obscurely at first, I noted a refrain from an old U2 song wailing in the middle layers of consciousness, as I unpacked what I could remember of a dream. I noted the words and energetic message offering themselves up:  “On Borderland we run…run and don’t look back… I’ll be there.”  I didn’t cognitively recall the title of the song;  I knew it was on the album “Unforgettable Fire,” which I’d owned on vinyl.  So, I booted up google and, went to the first intuitive choice, the first song on the album, “A sort of Homecoming.”  I clicked to listen– yep that was it– and let the words flow through, reading them afterwards, allowing the lines twinkling with message to wink at me, and letting the rest fall away.  In the flatness of my state, I felt a dim smile of incredulous wonder glow a bit brighter in my heart, nudging Faith slumbering beside it.  It’s just a moment. A little molecule of miracle–which I won’t muddy with further intellectualization here–amid the flood of miracles pouring around us perpetually; and we, poor fish, bathing in it, oblivious, groping for the hook of familiar demoralization.  So, I give thanks for the school of Krill I pass through in my ascent to the surface from sleep in the mornings, rousing me with little nutriments of remembrance.

Familiarity with ACIM enhances the meaningful associations that spoke to me here.

And you know it’s time to go

Through the sleet and driving snow

Across the fields of mourning

Light in the distance


And you hunger for the time

Time to heal, desire, time

And your earth moves beneath

Your own dream landscape


Oh, oh, oh 

On borderland we run 


I’ll be there

I’ll be there 


A high road

A high road out from here


The city walls are all come down

The dust, a smoke screen all around

See faces ploughed like fields that once

Gave no resistance


And we live by the side of the road

On the side of a hill 

As the valley explode

Dislocated, suffocated

The land grows weary of its own


Oh, oh, oh on borderland we run 

And still we run

We run and don’t look back

I’ll be there

I’ll be there




I’ll be there tonight I believe

I’ll be there somehow

I’ll be there tonight



The wind will crack in winter time

This bomb-blast lightning waltz

No spoken words, just a scream 


Tonight we’ll build a bridge 

Across the sea and land

See the sky, the burning rain

She will die and live again



And your heart beats so slow

Through the rain and fallen snow

Across the fields of mourning

Light’s in the distance


Oh don’t sorrow, no don’t weep

For tonight, at last

I am coming home

I am coming home



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