Tag Archives: Art

The Hidden Music


It’s pitch dark, 4 a.m. and I can not sleep.  The silence is rich, rare, treasured.  I love its sound, slowly awakening my heart.  I call silence, The Hidden Music, a song I have loved from the time I was a child, marveling at Mother Nature’s wonders around and about me. 

I listen to the sound of silence.  These words come as an inner cry to the world outside.


searching, wanting, controlling, needing, doubting, praying, dreaming, desiring, manipulating, forcing, grasping, fearing, using, wasting, lying, seeking, moving, believing, holding, imagining, and thinking.  Whatever is left, when you stop, is who you are.  It is silence, pure, real, unnamed, gentle, loving, and filled with serenity.  In this and from this is joy and freedom.*                                         


In silence, I hear the truth, the workings of the heart, the beating of this mysterious world we live.  I fall in love once more with life, its joys, and hold in a silent container, its sufferings. 

 Let us fall in love again
and scatter gold dust all over the world
Let us become a new spring
and feel the breeze drift in the heavens’ scent.
Let us dress the earth in green,
and like the sap of a young tree
let the grace from within sustain us.
Let us carve gems out of our stony hearts
and let them light our path to Love.
The glance of Love is crystal clear
and we are blessed by its light.

 Why are you so afraid of silence,
silence is the root of everything.
If you spiral into its void
a hundred voices will thunder messages
you long to hear
Rumi “Hidden Music”


Hidden Music plays when one’s presence is honored, when nature is cherished and suffering is held with love and understanding.  Where each one of us has their song to sing.


Bloom Where You’re Planted

I drove up and down Highway 12 yesterday from Sonoma to Santa Rosa in the early morning of the day.  As the hot sun blazed over miles and miles of green lush vineyard, I set my eyes on this exquisite region that is the wine country. 

I traveled by a number of architectural beauties, historic wineries, ones I have visited in the past, yet marveled once more at their stunning settings.  There was the mission styled St. Francis Winery with its majestic mountain backdrop and breathtaking views of vineyards; The windswept Kunde Estate combining a sense of elegance with a real sense of place inside 1850 acres of rich farm land; and Ledson’s must-see French Normandy Castle with its cathedral windows, sweeping staircases, marbled fireplaces, and coffered ceilings.

I thought to myself, I live in the wine country that is visited by millions of people from around the world each year.  Sonoma becomes their premier choice to vacation, to indulge their senses in varietal wine and culinary delights, to feed and restore their souls in nature.  This is my country, but do I really appreciate its rich offerings? 

I came across a relevant quote by French novelist, Marcel Proust, who wrote, “When I went to Venice, I found that my dream had become incredibly, but quite simply — my address.”

I, like Proust could easily call Venice, my home, my address (I love that city!), but I can also, quite simply call Sonoma, my dream, my home, my address. 

It is here, that I walk through the back country roads, cook up homemade Italian– Argentine recipes, garden long amongst the flowers, drink the nectar of the Gods–our own wine, write dutifully onto the page the details of my daily existence, to savor and taste the finer things that this lush life has to offer.