Eternal Reverberations

There’s a rhythm beating in my brain. It thud-thud-thuds away. When I’m in a good mood, it gets me going, charges me up, feet tapping, head nodding, fingers troddlin’ away. When I’m down, it’s a dripping tap, a banging hammer, the screech of too-long nails on a too-old blackboard. When I’m in between it beats with my walk, rotates with my legs pedalling up the hill to town, and just strings things along. But it’s there. It’s there.

Class 5-&6-combined are playing Indian drums, and Billy’s call-rhythm echoes my mind once again. In lessons, Memory is trying her best to play it on the kit, but never gets beyond three or four bars. Nicholas is strumming it on Saturday morning with the worship team. The engine of Joonas’ 125cc bike seems to be pumping it out as I ride with him to volleyball. The birds are singing it as I wake up. Sometimes I think it’s stopped, and then I go all quiet and listen. Soon I am able to tune into my pulse, and there it is again.

It’s a simple four-beat rhythm. It contains infinite variations, but always, it returns to where it came from, and it does not return void. After running from the house to town, late for work, I am breathing it…in…out…in…out…bass…snare…bass…snare…yoh…hey…vah…hey.

This rhythm is a message. This rhythm is a word. It’s the world’s premier brand-name, and it’s written on everything you see. It’s written on that Coke bottle, just behind the big C-O-C-A-C-O-L-A letters. It’s all over the sky in enormous gilded font, so that the birds are forced to fly through it or bump their beaks.

Yoh...Hey…Vah…Hey.

I meet a guy at Phoenix school. He is cold and confident. He tells me he doesn’t believe, and he says it with immense pride. My heart is about to fall, but then I listen again to his words… There…is…no…God…and hear Your rhythm echoing in his words. I see his chest rise and fall in Your tempo. In…out…in…out. He’s still part of the symphony. You’re still the Master Drummer.

Why, O why, have I not spent more time learning to dance?! My mind is dancing to this song, this ceaseless, endless, peerless beat, but my body can’t keep up. But aaaaaargggghgh it wants to! Yeah, go on and laugh at me, and I’ll join in. But I won’t stop this movement, beating time with my hands, gyrating, stamping, shouting, trying so hard to use all of me, every bit of me, to be a part of this piece.

Y…H…V…H

Can you hear it? Listen for a moment to the hum of your computer. That’s the sound of a fan blowing air…beating, beating as it was designed to beat by a designer who himself was designed by a designer. Take a few moments to breath in that same air, and breath it out. Or, if you’re in perverse mood, try not to. Go on, I dare you, just try to stop breathing His name. If you find you can’t, do us all a favour. Stop trying. Stop trying so hard to recompose yourself. You’ve been well orchestrated already, to be a part player in the symphony of everything. There’s an eternal reverberation shaking the walls of this universe. Get up and dance.