DEEPER

The deepest longings and cries of my heart are seldom given a voice by my mouth, but rather my hands. They cry out in anguish with a deep weeping and a pull of sorrow no vocal chords could express. They are tense and rigid, but moving as fluidly as a stream over submerged pieces of history, flowing past the sunken logs and rocks searching for something in the deep still waters of my soul. my hands pull up memories of the past and hopes for the future and give them a sound, a resonation that hums with an intonation of grace in my heart. sometimes my hands voice my joy and gladness, and other times they bring to light a deep sobbing and inexpressible anguish which can never be justified by any utterance of my lips, my hands create things my clumsy mouth could never do. silence is my solace and my strength, when i have her in my hands she sings to me sweetly, my weeping nightingale. my hands bring to life my voice through my music and my guitar, in her my deepest passion and aching awakens. the silence bound to my soul is broken and out pours the yearnings of my heart.


A man who works his hands is a laborer. He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman. He who works with his hands, his head, and his heart is..... an artist.
                                  ST. Francis of Assisi