What’s a Weep, and why I wish you one

weeps

Valve salve

Do you ever catch a Weep? I caught a Weep this morning from a memory 35 years old. The Spirit moves over the face of the waters, and these days maybe via blogs and FaceBook too, so permit me to explain.

But first, for the many new readers: This is Don from Piedmont Pine Coffins, where we make dignified pine boxes (with old-fashioned hand tools only) and help families hold more affordable funerals. Our cottage-industrial home is the off-grid Melleray Farmstead in central North Carolina, USA.

What’s a Weep? It is your tears in the face of a prosaic event that for inexplicable reasons triggers memories plus big-time gratitude. A Weep is powerful. It comes and goes suddenly, like a wave crashing on your shoulders from behind.

Here’s one instance.

One day when I was thirteen, thanks to the campaign and kismet of my young life, I found myself sitting in concert with a large semicircle of students holding instruments. I was in the middle with a trumpet, while behind me boomed percussion and french horns soothed me on the right. (Meanwhile, down below, the ranks of violins stabbed my ears, like in this Haydn quartet at :50. Sorry to all you violinists out there — it’s me, it’s not you.) There was a conductor at the front, and beyond him, an audience.

The swell of sound around me as we played that day wasn’t moving — as I thought then — only because it was loud and musical. No, I see now it was clearly an incarnate expression of Spirit flowing through the hearts of the composers. Channeled divine intent. And I was a fleeting portal.

What creatures we human beings are, and to what heights we climb!

Gratitude is the Attitude

I am so grateful I had that experience. This I realized today on the way to school when the kids wanted to hear Trombone Shorty. Wow, powerful music! I turned it up, the kids bopped in their boosters, and I caught a Weep.

There may be music on the Other Side, but it won’t be the same as weephearing it with human ears. It won’t be the same as feeling it vibrate your lips, the cold trumpet, your cranium, and the whole stage — as a human being. It won’t be the taste of wet metal mouthpiece. Or the scent of valve oil mixed with the spit that collects in the bends of the horn. Who knows? Maybe music for ethereal beings is even more sensual, with different senses. Let’s hope.

That’s it. That’s all you need to know about a Weep, except that I wish you one heartily. What might cause one, for you?