painting the palette of memory

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.

Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colours on the snowy linen land.

I still remember every instance when the night sky spoke to me. It first beckoned me into its presence when i was young and foolish. The night sky in langkawi was the first glimpse of beauty i saw from above. Its image is captured in my brain - the whole milky way of stars were just above me. I remember looking fondly at them, but being foolish, i did not fully understand what it was trying to say. And what it meant. I did not see; i did not listen.

But God gives grace and the night sky spoke to me again, when i was in a tent with friends, and next to one that i loved. We were at the beach, and it was dark and windy. I looked up, but i was foolish, and did not see; i did not listen to what it had to say. But it was beautiful, nonetheless.

It was when i was three-quarters up a mountain in the middle of the night that i looked up and listened. I was freezing, suffering from fatigue, and my seemingly waterproof gloves and shoes were wet. My fingers and toes could not be felt. But as i lay on the smooth rock to rest, the night sky was before me -- it was then that its beauty sank into this cold heart of mine. It spoke to me and it felt as if time stopped. The stars looked like they had all the answers. In the stillness, i felt totally secure, spiritually, mentally, physically. I was comforted and consoled. No questions were asked nor answered, but they simply vanished. I lay down, transfixed, for a long time.

The second time it spoke to me was in the beloved village in kunming, china. The sky was at its greatest majesty that night. Diamond-studded, i thought. We were singing spiritual songs along with the melancholic sound of a strumming guitar...and i wondered in awe at God's creation. But it was then that my heart was in great turmoil due to the things past and the things that happened. I looked up at the sky once again for solace. Sitting alone, away from the rest, I cried out to the sky. Because it was comforting, it was secure, it was like a shoulder for me to lean on; and its Creator offered empathy. And there and then, in the darkness, i poured my heart out to the sky, and it listened and its Creator gave grace, the sky and I. Somehow we understood each other, and everything did not seem to matter then.

And now i understand
What you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Perhaps when the world comes to an end, when all pride and prejudice is put down, only then will people listen to the stars and the sky that echo the voice of God.

Only when its too late, do people listen.

Perhaps they'll listen now.