The Anger

I'm calling this 'the anger'

She thought, as she scribbled it on the CD cover.

These past six months had been especially trying for Mirabelle. As always, she decided to be reflective in this moment. Every album finish, every soul-cleansing session, ended with a reflection on the inspiration behind the songs, which formed the actual closing of that chapter in her life. Now she held one of those moments in her hand, except this moment was real. It was concrete, it was life transforming and for the very first time she was actually moved, and was still being moved by the resounding gravity of life's little twists and turns.

She remained and will probably always remain in awe of the past events, in six months. Six months, was all it took, yet here she is. Still Mirabelle, still singing, even after she thought she never could again, still reflective, still the same voice, eyes, mouth and nose. Maybe just a little more subdued, a little calmer even, and filled with tons more joy.

A tiny tear slid down her face, she could testify now, without any doubt that there is a light after the tunnel. That there is beauty waiting on the outside. She thought about the last song on the album, "Heaven". The way she designed the album was such that it reflected a slow progression to the end of the tunnel. So, "Heaven" was very different from the first track.

"Heaven" she mulled over the name again, her life now was not heaven by any stretch, yet there was something heavenly about it. She could hear the bass guitar, picking up the melody from off the ground, followed by the lone conga drums forming a brand new rhythm to follow. Then the solo guitar came on, with a new way to walk ushering in the drums and the piano, saying 'no, don't walk, dance' and she smiled to herself.

It was excellent. Then her voice...thick with the spirit behind the truth, the life beneath the letter and the gratitude behind the heart. Perfection, not from her, but through her, and she was grateful.