inside your restless soul (nicephore)

[azel]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 440px; height: 600px; background-image: url(http://i495.photobucket.com/albums/rr311/rpimages101/4d42afb8-0281-4e56-b1c4-49bc811ed8f2_zps0f4985f5.jpg); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius:100px 100px 100px 100px; border: 3px solid #ffffff;] YOUR HEART IS DYIN’ A cough racked her body as she sat busying herself upon the steps of the holy building. An illness had been threatening her small form for the past few days. She sniffled as she looked down upon her work. In her thin fingers, Azelma grasped a dark piece of either charred wood or dark stone and etched a scene upon the steps of the cathedral. She cared not which religious establishment she set herself down upon. All churches and cathedrals began to look the same to Azelma as she spent the majority of her time upon their steps looking for scraps and change. Today was no different. A mass was in progress, and her surroundings were uneventful. Exhaustion consumed her body as she sat and sketched. Azelma had been struggling to sleep as of late. Her sister and brother had almost completely disappeared with all this talk of revolution and outrage. Boys and their wars and guns and toys or big mouths…Azelma shook her head at the thought. It was all a waste. The poor would still be poor at the end of the day so what difference did any of it make? Azelma knew nothing of the political nature of their argument nor did she care. Nothing they did would put food in her stomach. No shouting or fighting would get the rats out her home. There was nothing to be done for her lot in life. She had accepted it, and it annoyed her that they would rather waste their time plotting and planning and failing…instead of making the best with what they had. Azelma had felt the brunt of her siblings’ absence. Her father’s hands had been extremely heavy as evidenced by the bruises up and down her arms. Two nights prior to this calm morning, he had taken to shaking her like a rug in hopes of shaking speech from her lips. All he shook her screams as his large hands injured her arms without a second thought. This was no time for that kind of thinking. A song rolled out from the cracks in the church’s doors. Azelma’s eyelids fell to cover those dark hues as she took in the music and voices raised as one. The music surged within her and calmed each buzzing cell of her body. Her hand blindly continued to draw. The image of the cathedral soon became apparent against the stone. A crucifix rose up beside the church surrounded by simulated light and glory. Her ability to draw without looking was something she learned thanks to her father’s harshness. If she could pay little attention to her work, he was less likely to notice her tinkering. Her body began to sway to the glorious music as her artwork continued to grow. A small, gentle, innocent smile formed upon her features as she allowed herself to be consumed. The poor urchin was at an odd peace in that moment. She was clothed in rags and dirt, and yet, she was basking in the goodness and solace she felt within the music. there can be only one mikey! of caution 2.0

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[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

Nicephore’s daily schedule would have had him return to the monastery house at the time of vespers, but he had been so enthralled in his rounds and duty to give out alms that he had completely forgotten the time. He knew that God would not frown on him too much for putting the ‘labora’ before the ‘ora’ today, but he still felt bad about missing one of his most important prayers. Therefore, having calculated that the way back would take him too long and the prayer would be over by his arrival, he had snuck into a nearby church and observed the evening mass there, or rather: the vesper hour. The power of the liturgy soon enthralled him and he happily joined into the words and the simple melodies, filling the whole of the nave for God’s sole praise and glory. The church was not as filled as it might have been, quite sadly so due to Pariseans following the ‘new tide’ of the philosophers, telling them that they needn’t pray to get what they needed. It was a sad trend Nicephore watched with concern, but he had enough faith in God to reveal a solution in his own good time.

But the liturgy was not yet over when suddenly Nicephore felt an odd sentiment inside him, a nagging feeling of him to be somewhere else now rather than here. This feeling disturbed him gravely, and he fixated his eyes to the cross and ask for advice while the familiar words of the vesper prayers rolled easily off his tongue. But the feeling would not vanish, in fact it seemed to increase with every second that trickled by. It was as if a voice was telling him that he was needed somewhere right now, as if some poor soul craved his assistance while he was inside this church. The sentiment gnawed at his conscience as he lost all tranquility he might have gained by the liturgy, and he weighed the prospect of leaving the service in a rush against the prospect of leaving someone that might need him, however odd this premonition or whatever it was seemed to him.

Then again, wasn’t God’s voice speaking to you when you least expected it? And had it not always taught him to follow his heart? You could serve the Lord in many more ways than prayer, and if He allowed his servant’s thoughts to stray thus from worship, he might as well regard it as a sign.
So Nicephore quickly crossed himself and left his row, walking in a quick but not too hurried pace towards the entrance, actually curious now as to what might await him, what he had been led towards. God’s ways were above any human comprehension, that much he knew. When he slipped out of the heavy double winged door, the franciscan monk cast his eyes around warily, until they fell onto the frame of a poor young girl, seemingly engrossed in the music, but not daring to witness it from inside the church. She looked haggard and beaten down, but at least at some form of peace for the moment.

He could not be sure, but something told him that this might be the poor soul needing his assistance, and so he leaned down, whispering calmly: “Beautiful, isn’t it? Wise men once said that music is one way to get closest to God. There are different languages all over the world… but music is one understood by all, and used by the angels.”