The same old tune. Familiar notes. A sound, a beat, a voice that you recognize. Bringing forth emotions. Connections, a child, a man, a woman. A feeling, a smell, a place in time that you can’t even remember. A space. Where the song can sing. A place that she has sang herself before. Even if you can’t think. Exactly where it was. Exactly what it was. Something about her music. And she won’t leave you alone.
The same old tune. Some think she grows useless. That she will become trivial and unimportant. Because she has been sung too often. Because she has been played over again. But in truth, the music is being cemented into experience. Burrowing a home in your memories and your comfort, and your place that feels like home.
But music doesn’t operate by logical standards. She does not win you over with her rational discourse. You may never even know her words. Humming along, you’re making up vocables to match the sympathetic wailings you hear. Unknown depths pulsing under her sound waves, never needing anyone to dive any deeper to appreciate the beauty. The music captivates, washing over your ears, over your head, over your thoughts, and you still sing. Even when the words are wrong.
The same old tune. Singing her song from before you were born. The greatest of songs your parents have sang before you. They still know it today. Now humming along, producing her words that they have learned from before. Adding their harmony to the notes scripted by another. Built from outside voices, as she becomes your song, too.
Fascinating. Participation. In the melody that grows. Roots. Into heart and mind. Despite even knowing all her words.
Until one day. The same old tune. Reveals her word. Catching the line, like you’ve never heard before. The phrase that you never quite understood. Until this moment. The same old tune. Sings her old song, anew.
A new world explodes. The connection, emotion, the currents of meaning now mean something, sing something, the same something, and now you know more. A treasure discovered in familiar lyrics, or misunderstood mumblings. A rediscovery. What was lost is now found, that you never knew, was lost from before.
The word, the mood, the right time and place. Unlocked understanding. Inspired the new song. The same old tune. That we all sang before. A new song was hiding. In her same old tune.
Familiar phrases. Memorized words. The rote, scripted prayers that our ancestors said. Some think that they have grown old. Because they have been prayed too often. Because they have been sung over again. But this same old tune has been cemented into experience. Humming along, captivating. Washing over your ears over your head, over your thoughts, and you still sing.
The same old tune. They still know her today. Producing her words they have learned from before. As your new world explodes, and her meaning means something. Revealed to you. Like you’ve never heard before. Until this moment. The same old tune. Sings her old song, anew.