A cold and broken hallelujah

It’s hard to go inside yourself and not be self-indulgent. Most people don’t, and leave a lot behind. You need to feel the presence of death on you and the dark that comes with it to fully appreciate the living, what’s right in front of you. Most of the time we deny both life and death, and drift like ghosts, half-alive. I find myself haunting the streets now looking for purpose, the beauty in the music of Jeff Buckley, the mystery wrapped in code, in lyric. “A broken hallelujah.” Not his words but they were, then. It doesn’t matter. I put the record on because I got the promo tape in a cafe in Pittsburgh 20 years ago and his dad was from San Francisco and died there, and I went back there for work, last week. It’s how we’re all connected or could be: maybe there is a god above…and it’s not a cry you hear at night, not someone who’s seen the light…a cold and broken hallelujah. I didn’t care for him then but 20 years later I do, and he’s as alive to me now as he was then. That’s why you do it. You may be ahead of your time or out of time, be true and you’ll rise above the time.

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About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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2 Responses to A cold and broken hallelujah

  1. rossmurray1 says:

    I remember arguing with a young Jeff Buckley fan — probably 15 years ago. I just couldn’t stomach his overwrought, keening, running-of-scales style. I still don’t care for him particularly and feel somehow deficient as a consequence, although at this point it may just be stubbornness.
    But that’s not really the point of your post, which I like.

    Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I’m with you on his style, but he struck a chord recently (so to speak). Thanks Ross- enjoy your end of week!

      Like

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