Day 3 (2/3) – I hear the bell toll four while walking in the cemetery and find my way to the cathedral, door ajar. Upon entering, I am enveloped by a hushed, mid-range, oscillating drone that instantly gives me a hair-standing-on-end feeling. (ASMR some call it.) I think of an installation at Moorten Botanical Gardens in Palm Springs, where frequencies of satellite orbits have been made into musical compositions. Otherworldy. I enter the nave and discover fans in motion high above and a pipe organ. Maybe a harmonic frequency amplifying in one pipe? Even with explanation, still the chills. I sit and take in the cross-stitched kneelers, lovely and worn, the daffodil-wrapped cross, fragrant and new. Ah my soul, you catch up to me and overflow. The droning. Frequency of light. I absorb all I can. When I rise to leave, I am drawn to the windows, also strewn with daffodils. I follow the yellow budded path to an old bible at the front, opened to an illustration that looks to be a strand of DNA. Again chills. It is the genealogy of Christ. And there she is. Rachab. Rahab. Muse of my song! Light of my darkness! She for whom the River is Rising! I can barely see, blinded as I am by daffodils and droning.
West Yorkshire – Day 3 (2/3) Daffodils and droning.
