yesterday in prayer: the idea returned over and over:
'an invading army enter the temple in search of treasure
and they are baffled to find the ark empty.'
[why does the pure white stone delight me?]

and another thought was: mary visits the tomb
[what was she going to do?]
the tomb was empty -
just as the ark of god was.
[I've just read the four accounts: each so different.]
do we need to visit the tomb also?
is this what we do in our psalms?

the battle between music and psalms rages on.
all I know is that
it has to do with the place where you are.

my music is strange and unfathomable.
I wrote a piece over the last few days which makes no sense to me
and yet, when I came to review it this morning:
meaning to double back and rub out stuff
too unbearable to leave on the page
it was all as though set like cement:
I couldn't change a note!

my music robs the psalms of meaning
and the psalms rob my music of meaning:
cancelling out each other

the music is 'mine' in a way that the psalms obviously cannot be.
could this be the source of the problem?
[setting words remains out of the question].
how far does the music interfere with what it is I am saying the psalms for?
[why am I saying the psalms?]
does my music do anything other than create distance between us?
(or perhaps it states a truth about you that I otherwise cannot countenance?
I cannot say: I do not know.

the thought yesterday: that my music is akin to painting:
streaking a canvas with colour.
for some reason this makes it more bearable.
the very act of doing this adds significance
[almost regardless of results].

could the keyword there be significance.
is that what I seek?

painting a portrait then.
which can only be you.