why don't you sing, little monkey?

couple weeks ago, a very beautiful blue heron came with an enticing idea. she said, hey, little monkey, how would it be, to be free of the pez hat and cymbals, and to play what your heart wishes?

the little monkey is a content animal.  there are, of course, days where she looks up into the vast sky and wonder, hmm, all these sound we make, where does it go in context of the beauty of the world?

sometimes monkey changes her hats. she puts down her red pez hat for playing; what does she do? well, she sometimes dig ditches and works with big, strong machines, in dust storm.  sometimes she sits down in a little branch, with others who sings from a different world- monkey carefully transposes them, as you know, each note is important and each inflection can mean the world to speaker and the listener.  sometimes, she puts on a flap cap and just goes somewheres. anywhere. faraway.

she likes cogwheels. little monkey plays music because it lets people to open up their hearts and speak sincerely. sometimes, the beauty falls out from their unguarded selves and even they are surprised.  the days are sprinkled with sparkles.  of course, too much sparkles can drive anyone crazy.

often, little monkey thinks of her times when she was wee. her life was surrounded by very practical matters- to do well, to be responsible, to be resourceful.  her little family loved her much and they had more than enough to be happy- but it is true that when she went to the music school, she realized she had musical poverty. failing her entrance theory exam was a funny incident, not even tragic, as it was fully expected- an exercise in futility for the future.

arts? what is art?

there are many silly people who assumes and puts on the hat of prophets. they all run around ragged, barefoot, screaming on top of their lungs.  prophet isaiah certainly did set a strong example.  they wag their fingers, speak loudly and tells you what's wrong with the world, with arts.  little monkey used to be terrified of these people. but then she understood later- all they wanted was to be loved, for they had thoughts they wished to share. and they wanted to be loved. that's all it was. so now, she's just a bit wary of them.  she carefully crosses the road when she sees a raving prophet.  after all, what is the little monkey going to say to them?

but like all people, there are times that monkey has thoughts, very small ones, albeit, because she needs to keep it simple- she learned the danger of being complicated and wordy- oh the complications! and also because the simpler the things, she likes it better.

so going back to her nest on the high tree branch, monkey looked into her collection of little things. little wonders. bits of shiny mirror. silver ribbons. white paper that has not be touched. memories of snow flakes.

she brought it to the heron. they went for a walk and collected even more things- piece of spring, young and youthful. sultry perfumed silk ribbon.  feisty flee circus bill. and heron also showed her the rich things sheve found- oh, look, some old italian pictures, filled with ink, gradations and stories!

with kind hosts, who've seen many things in life, the two stood in the gentle light of early winter dusk and did a little show-and-tell.

of course, with all show-and-tell, one can fuss so much about it…

little monkey rarely speaks of her own thoughts on a stage.  she wonders if it would be worthy of anyone's time. after all, simple sunshine on icicle can speak of the world so clearly.  there are so much beauty.  may be what she wants to sing, it won't matter much. and with the great display of bravado, grandiose and richness, she often feels that her collection of small things may seem foolish.

but they SAID they wanted to hear!

oh with the cautious heart, she unravelled the treasures with blue heron. and people were touched.

it is miraculous, after all these time, that such little collection in the vast big world, can manage to speak a bit. even for brief time.

it's a quite a surprising experience for the monkey, who mostly wears her velvet red pez hat and assist many little tasks.  this time, it was different. it was her and the heron who made it happen- and the wise man and woman helped to gather ears who were hungry for something. and yay, we did provide something.

what dos it all mean? it is too soon to tell. it was too sincere of an experience to speak of, because, well, this little monkey needs time to process things. or she will make mistakes!

but for now, she carries the magic of the moment, when she spoke little tiny words, people did listened. and it meant something.

ah the beauty!

with content heart, she is looking into calendar full of little tasks, jam packed. but she knows, that magic did happen last weekend. and she is grateful.


  1. to be listened to, and not simply to be heard, is a joyful balance; both give, and both are richer. this is a lovely piece, and touched my heart!

  2. Dearest Cecilia,
    Your deft talents as a seer, poet, artist and musician are quite dazzling... and though it is always a surprise to be truly heard, it was no surprise that the light-filled people in the Colgrass orbit all gravitated towards you! Thanks for the lovely writing, playing and thinking