Story: The Trumpet of the Mind
Verse 1
There’s a knot inside the stomach
there’s a grip across the chest
there’s a jaw that holds the doorway
there’s a body needing rest
and the mind comes in with flowers
and a clipboard and a plan
saying, “Tell me what this means now
I will fix it if I can”
There are memories in the hallway
there are stories at the gate
there are labels from the old world
saying, “This is what you hate”
but before the thing could enter
before the pain could show its face
something tightened like a soldier
standing guard around the place
Pre-Chorus
And then, ta-da
the mind appears
with a golden little trumpet
and a map of all your fears
Chorus
But maybe this is not the wound
maybe this is what protects it
maybe this is not the truth
maybe this is what deflects it
maybe all this holding on
is a way to push away
what the body couldn’t feel then
but is touching now today
So let the trumpet quiet down
let the guard lower the sign
there is nothing wrong with thinking
but it cannot cross this line
where the body tells its story
without needing to explain
and the rain is only raining
before anyone calls it pain
Verse 2
She said, “I live up in my thinking”
like the body was elsewhere
but the thought was also moving
in the organism there
like a tickle, like a tremor
like a footstep through the floor
not outside the body’s weather
just another body door
And the mind said, “You are broken”
then it said, “You think too much”
then it built another ladder
out of language, fear, and touch
but the ladder led to ladders
and the models multiplied
while the feeling waited quietly
on the other side
Pre-Chorus
And then, ta-da
the mind returns
with a theory and a rescue
while the deeper body burns
Chorus
But maybe this is not the wound
maybe this is what protects it
maybe this is not the truth
maybe this is what deflects it
maybe all this holding on
is a frightened kind of care
trying hard to keep the old thing
from appearing in the air
So let the trumpet quiet down
let the naming lose its throne
there is nothing here to conquer
there is nothing here to own
just a movement, just a tightening
just a thought that says “that’s me”
and a space before the story
where the body can be free
Bridge
What if She is only weather
held together by the storm
what if suffering keeps the outline
of a long familiar form
what if worth and unworth vanish
when the measuring is gone
not a failure, not a triumph
not a self to build upon
There are moments in the making
in the art and in the flow
where no one stands outside the movement
saying, “Tell me who I know”
only color, only motion
only breath and hand and light
and the one who feared dissolving
is not needed for the sight
Verse 3
She spoke of something larger
like a net beneath the fall
where the past and all its shadows
could be held and welcomed all
not by thinking, not by fixing
not by naming every scar
but by safety wide as silence
saying, “Come just as you are”
And the mind may still keep talking
it may plan and prove and plead
it may dress itself as savior
offering everything you need
but beneath the bright performance
beneath the clever rescue art
there is life already moving
through the body, through the heart
Final Chorus
So maybe this is not the wound
maybe this is what protects it
maybe this is not the truth
maybe this is what deflects it
and maybe when the guard gets tired
and the trumpet fades away
what was feared as annihilation
is just openness at play
Let the body have its evening
let the yoga stretch the thread
let the shaken pieces settle
let the tired one go to bed
there is nothing more to work on
nothing extra to refine
just the mystery unwinding
in its own unhurried time
Outro
Ta-da, says the mind
I am here to save the day
but the body softly whispers
you can let that fade away
No fixing
no fight
no perfect words tonight
just this breath
this chest
this strange unwinding rest
And somewhere past the trumpet
before the self can start
life is already singing
through the unguarded heart
