It's howling and wounded,
You can't kiss it or spoon it,
It lays 'lone on the ground.
My weary heart...
It's heavy and frowning',
It's dreary and soundin',
This blue ditty now.
And each day I walk past,
A soul seen as the last,
From misfortunes in life
They've endured.
I ask God how and why?
And what purpose have I
To give of His peace as the cure?
My stupid heart...
It's trying, but selfish.
I can't seem to be selfless,
I fall just when I get up.
My trying heart...
It's confused and it's battered,
Everything is the matter,
From this hole in my cup.
And it's never fulfilled,
And it's make me ill,
It's the sickness that burdens us all.
It's a loneliness game
With an unknown name,
So I pray to the Maker of all.
My beating heart...
It fails every endeavor,
But I promise I'll never,
Chose to lose all my hope.
My beating heart...
It's tempted to crumble,
From each time that I stumble,
But with you Lord, I'll cope.
And though I always forget
The first day that we met,
And the hand you extended to mine.
When I fail on my own,
I see I'm not all alone,
And the veil falls away from the blind.
My weary heart.
My trying heart.
My beating heart.
JESS COFFMAN
Today's song was actually written about two weeks ago, after I had spend some time on the phone with my friend Robyn O'Shea. I met Robyn last summer while performing for Transcendence Theatre Company, in Sonoma, CA. Her purple pansy-covered cane had fallen off of the counter in the optometrist's office we were in, and I picked it up for her. That basically started it all. She calls me her "adopted daughter," her "dancing angel." Truly, she is my angel too. She used to be the Chaplain for a jail in the San Francisco Bay Area, and has dedicated her entire life being of service to abused women, children and the poor. Now that she is disabled, she tells me that her ministry has changed, and she is so grateful for the perspective and the opportunity to be of service to her new community.
"My Weary Heart," sprung out of a conversation, with Robyn where I confided that sometimes when I have been of service to the poor and needy, I feel absolutely hopeless afterward. I know in some way that a smile, listening ear, meal or chat can be a great help to someone, I've experience being rejuvenated by just one stranger's smile myself. But I struggle with the fact that there are so many people living on the streets of New York that are afflicted in a variety of ways, and just millions of people with the money to get all of those willing, off of the streets. When I feel weary, it is often because though, I can help in a small way, what my friends on the street really need is someone to take a much larger risk and to open a much bigger door for them, that I don't have the means to provide.
While Robyn and I were speaking on the phone, I walked through Riverside Park and sat in front of the docks by the 72nd street Boat Basin. I sat there in awe, staring at the huge aggressive storm clouds and the persistent sun beams that shot down to the river in celestial exuberance. I felt almost afraid as I waited for what was going to happen next. Then the rain broke and it rained so hard. I sat still and allowed myself to get wet, just watching the rocking sailboats and the magnificent sky. Water always makes the weary renewed in its way. Then on two different benches, in two different boroughs of New York, I wrote this song.
These photos of me are within a Richard Serra piece at DIA contemporary art museum in Beacon, New York. I had had a beautiful experience of soul-inspired improvised dance, within several of these pieces when they were on display at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, many years ago. Walking in that room and seeing these pieces, took my breath away. I was so grateful to feel moved to dance within them again, and to absolutely feel small and humbled within their presence.
Peace, Sculpture and Storms,
Your Jess
No comments:
Post a Comment