Behold A Pale Horse

"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."

I'm not sure what it is, the frail voice that was once strong and filled concert halls, his ability to continue to play his instrument as if it were an appendage, the words he'd written, his journey in life, or maybe I gravitate to the pain, the hurt, and triumphs expressed in his lyrical wanderings.

Something has drawn me to the music written in the last years of his life, many in the last three months of which his Creator allowed him breath. It's held me together when I felt nothing else could. It's comforted me when there was no solace, only unanswered questions.

I close my eyes and listen. I listen to the haunting bass-baritone voice and am able to discern his good days from his bad days. I listen to him beautifully manipulate the strings of his well worn guitar. I allow myself to feel the pain in his soul, as well as the joy in having made peace with the paths he chose to follow throughout his 71 years on this Earth.

I listen to his voice daily, closing my eyes and I am able to put myself in the midst of the verses so beautifully sang. Many I can identify with. Many remind of my life and how I chose one path over another.

Maybe it's his confidence I lean on, that I feel emanating from him,  that I yearn for. Whatever it is, I shall continue to listen, most likely several times a day.  Maybe I'll find what I'm searching for, maybe not, but he gives me hope and strength when none is to be found.

Even in death, he has the ability to bring emotion to people that have buried it so deeply, hoping never to feel it again. His words are able to bring life, pain, torment, and joy together to knit a beautiful piece, a proxy, for the Rock on which some of us stand.