If I Go On / In Western Lands Beneath the Sun

Here is my last song for #songaweek2023. This year I slowed my songwriting pace from weekly to monthly, and it has felt right. Next year I will probably continue with this pace.

The first part of this song drew inspiration from some painful news my faith community received last week, that our 15-year-old church’s founding pastor is moving on to a new church call. When you’re part of a good thing that’s become an anchor of peace in your life, it’s hard to lose its leader and wonder what comes next, and if you have the fortitude to keep going now.

This personal grief comes amid the deeper, wider sorrows spreading from two wars in the news and the insistent vague consciousness of suffering all over everywhere and everywhen. It’s December and it’s raining as I write this (a localized pain of global warming here in Minnesota where it should be snowing), and in this northern land we’ve been swiftly plodding towards the longest night. So it feels like the dark is never far.

I couldn’t write a hopeful part for this song, but I turned to a song that Sam Gamgee sang in The Return of the King. So once again, thank you Mr. Tolkien. In the lyrics posted below the video, Tolkien’s words are set in quotation marks, and I am happy to give him the last word in this last song of 2023.

If I go on then why can’t you?
Can I believe the words you said
The songs you sang
The hope you spoke
The better day you thought you saw?
And if I fall then have I failed?
Can I be down and still be true
True to you
The you I knew
When you knew all would come out right?

“In western lands beneath the Sun

the flowers may rise in Spring,

the trees may bud, the waters run, 

the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe ’tis cloudless night 

and swaying beeches bear 

the Elven-stars as jewels white

amid their branching hair.”

The day is dark the night is long
It’s stolen land I’m standing on
From hand to hand
From name to name
We pass it down, we shift the blame
The water’s wide, I can’t cross o’er,
The day is bruised the night so sore
I’ll dig my den
and lay me down,
bear my heart to the wounded ground

“Though here at journey’s end I lie

in darkness buried deep,

beyond all towers strong and high, 

beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun

and Stars for ever dwell:

I will not say the Day is done,

nor bid the Stars farewell.”

Blue Sky Baby

November seemed like a good month to finish up this song I’d started writing maybe a couple years ago – since November is the month of one of my kids’ birthdays and also when we think about what we’re thankful for. I sure am thankful for these two people.

You’re my blue sky baby with a heart of gold
Steady sunshine radiating from your soul
Though you do cloud over and it rains on your cheeks
Everybody knows
That’s how everything grows

You’re a fresh breeze breathing through my tired routine
Brighter eyes that see the smile in everything
Though sometimes you close them and get lost in your dreams
Everybody knows
That’s how everything grows

And when you go you know you take the light with you
So shine on shine on shine on

You’re the best thing that I ever did for sure
And you’re so much better and you’re so much more
So go on sweet darlin spread your roots and drink deep
Then when autumn comes release what can’t be kept and sleep
So when spring returns you’ll have the energy you need
Everybody knows
That’s how everything grows

To the Sea

This past summer into early fall I reread The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I’ve been making music for several of the songs from those books. This one was sung (the words at least) by Legolas in The Return of the King. I’m no elven musician but I enjoyed putting some music to J.R.R. Tolkien’s lyrics.

Last week Nathan and I spent a couple days in Duluth and I took several what I like to call “still videos” of beautiful Lake Superior. I used one of them for this song’s backdrop. Minnesota’s inland sea calls to me, so I try to visit Duluth at least once a year (this last time I decided maybe I should go every season).

To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,

The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying. 

West, west away, the round sun is falling. 

Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?

I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me; 

For our days are ending and our years failing.

I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing. 

Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling, 

In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!

Peace of My Mind

This song came at the right time for me. I needed to relax.

Somewhere in the past week someone called to my mind the story of the burning bush, where God says to Moses, “take off your shoes, you are on holy ground.” And for the first time in my life that idea hit me in a whole different way. Take off your shoes, sit a spell, take it easy. Holy ground is hallowed ground, is sacred space, is an invitation to just be.

Also in the past week I heard someone say, “I’ll give him the piece of my mind!” and the slipup of “the” instead of “a” halfway wrote this song.

Take off your shoes, this is holy ground
You can relax, stay awhile, stick around
I’ll give you the peace of my mind

Let down your guard, I’m just here with you
Nothing to sell, nothing you need to prove
I’ll give you the peace of my mind

Breathe in, breathe out
That’s about the gist of it
Breathe in breathe out
Live

Breathe in, breathe out
That’s about the gist of it
Breathe in breathe out
Live

New at This (So Now Here)

I fell in love with an old acquaintance last year, and when I glanced at the #songaweek2023 prompt for this week (week 37), I knew I had to write my September song THIS week. It happened to be a photo prompt, and it happened to be this photo:

Twenty-five years ago my new husband Nathan took me to the Black Hills of South Dakota, rented me a pair of climbing shoes and a harness, tied me to a rope, and asked me to climb the rock in front of me. I tried, because I knew he loved it, but after maybe twenty or thirty feet, my heart pounding, adrenaline overwhelming me, I asked to come down.

I tried climbing again a time or two over the years as my kids grew up learning and loving to climb (especially my daughter Luthien who has now exceeded her dad in skill level), but I just couldn’t feel the appeal.

Until the end of last summer, when Luthien begged me to just go to the gym with her once before she headed off to college, and I reluctantly agreed. That afternoon, I fell hard – in love, not on the floor. I can still remember the moment, halfway up the wall, when I called down to her, “Ooh, I think I finally get why people like this!”

Over the fall and winter I dragged my happy husband to the gym multiple times per week, or went alone if and when he couldn’t join me – in pursuit of harder route grades, building muscle and skill. I took ibuprofen before bed many nights as my middle-aged body adjusted to this new world order I was imposing on it.

Next month I will turn 48 and maybe I will conquer a 5.11+ in this next year of my life. I wonder what else I have yet to try (for the first time or again) and fall in love with?

Recording this song was especially fun because Luthien happened to be home from college this weekend and sang along with me!

I never knew that I loved you
Until I left the ground
Yours was the face I thought I knew
But I know nothing now

I’m new at this
I’m so brand new

I’m learning how to hold you and
I’m always ready to fall
You push me through I think I can
You drive me up the wall

I’m reaching out
I’m so far gone

Here at the beating heart of my heart
Everything turns to stone

Let there be light and let me see
It coming through the cracks
Breathe in the moment, find my feet
Give you all I have

I’m almost there
I’m so nowhere 
I’m here with you
I’m so now here