There is a midrash – a story – that there are ten songs in the Bible. What those ten songs are depends upon the rabbi or sage you ask. The list is a bit fluid. All agree, however, that the Tenth Song is, as yet, unwritten. It is the Song of Moshiach, the Messiah — a song so filled with Everythingness that we are redeemed, restored, wrongs righted, pain healed, paradise regained.

What if, instead of that Song, that tenth song is one of our own — the unwritten song, the song that is perhaps written on our souls, or whispered in our hearts – the Song of our own Everythingness? The one of celebration and mourning and love and fear and life and death.

So then the question becomes: What is that song?

This is the song I found, waiting for me today (with a little help from my friends).

There is a song

Somewhere in me

Buried.

Or maybe just

unnoticed,

while I chase

the louder notes —

all brass and

brash,

a startlement of

little songs

and tinny

grandeur.

But there is a song

that plays

Deep

and Slow,

an exultation.

And I rise to it,

and move to it,

and I am drawn to it,

nearer than breath

or Time.

And I rise

to its siren call,

and I am filled

past the borders

of my fear

and the edges

of my joy,

and I sing.

And I sing.