Beautiful words behind the song. I have a friend who is facing some personal problems many continents away and I so resonate with the line " there is always someone singing in the dark for you." Thank you for sharing your gifts, Carrie.
Thank you. What comes to mind for me about singing in the dark is this. We have a mockingbird that lives nearby. It (may I call it she) loves to sing in the dark, right before the dawn. It used to be an irritant for me, especially when I wanted to hide for another hour under my warm comforter before I faced the darkness that I knew I would see even in the daylight. Still, her persistent calling was like a good friend calling the band together. With each song, she called another and another until the orchestra was gathered to sing the dark on its way. It takes courage I think, to sing in the dark. It means, there is more than darkness, and that no matter how dark, a song will bring strength to the one singing and the ones hearing. Now with this new thought from you, it will be a reminder to sing along (from under my comforter).
I love the image of “her persistent calling …like a good friend.” I also listen for the birds in the morning, and I like how you say it takes courage to sing in the dark. Perhaps it also takes courage to listen to the song.
My days usually begin in the dark- I am up before sunrise, and I read aloud morning prayer from Padraig O’Tuama’s book, Daily Prayer With the Corrymeela Community. There is a place in the middle to pause for silence; some days my silent time is not very quiet, but I keep coming back, trusting the process. I am also reading John O’Donohue’s book Eternal Echoes, a passage each day, and then I write a poem in response to what I have prayed, read, and experienced at the edge of night and day. This daily practice helps me keep my eyes and heart open to the unplanned, unexpected graceful moments that come each day, and I am learning to welcome them all. I also listen to lots of music! I discovered your music, Carrie, several years ago (at the right time) when I was facing some health issues. Your songs have become a soundtrack for my life❤️. Two days ago my husband and I travelled to Belmont, MA to see your concert- it was such a precious gift to see you in person, to be a part of the audience that sang and danced along- an unforgettable experience. Thank you!
Lovely. Your poems and songs touch the heart. Thank you. And a particular thank you also for singing my favorite song in Belmont the other night. Room at the Table is this priest's mantra.
Singing in the Dark has become a favorite since I received your new album... thank you, and thank John, for writing such a lovely, grounding piece of music in these troubled times. It's the melody I hear in my head as I move through the day, and sometimes when I'm awake at 3 am.
This is a beautiful song, and in your story, Brother Lawrence words send a shudder down the spine: "There is always someone singing in the dark at that vulnerable time of the night - for you, for me, for anyone awake or might need help at that hour."
What does "singing in the dark" mean to me? First of all, it resonates with me a lot, as I have been an early bird all my life.
"Singing in the dark" may be an activity that is physically silent, but which, as the songs do, makes other people's lives better. It may be doing tiny and quiet household chores early in the morning, before the work starts. It may be a baker working in the night so that a grocery opens with fresh bread on its shelves. A tired nurse or doctor may sing quietly at the end of their night shift, to keep themselves awake, attentive and motivated. Many people "sing in the dark" so that we can wake up and thrive. A good act of reciprocity is to find my own "night song": something I do before dawn for others.
(I replied with the same words to the Song Lab post "Singing in the Dark", but then I wrote it many days after the post had been published. I hope not to bore the readers by repeating the reply here)
My singing in the dark isn’t in the physical darkness but in the darkness that seems to often deep into my heart, soul, being this time of year with the shortening of day light. My singing is looking for present moment joys, the sun rising behind the brown and golden leaves, the meow of the cat, the greeting from my husband, the encouragement of a friend by text. Knowing there are people sending out song and love in the darkness of hours is comforting especially when so many things are so hard in our world today. Thanks to you and John for your song
I just recently discovered your music. The lyrics and sound you have put together touch my soul and deepen my prayer life. Music opens a connection to the heart, for me, that nothing else can reach. Thank you.
For me, the darkness of current events seems heavier because I have a lot of family in Israel, some serving in the army. My feelings about the situation in the physical world frequently do not line up with my Spiritual beliefs. So I sing in the dark by meditating on the only truths I hold near and dear- Peace , Light, and Loving for all! Namaste!
Having had the luck to born with a voice that reminds me of the sound made when emptying a gravel truck, singing was never my long suit. But, I am a self taught piano player and I'm good enough to impress my close friends. Also, I am lucky enough to have married late in life and someone who did not want a ring for an engagement gift, but instead wanted a grand piano. (I think the two were related.) As older adults, we created no children but made a beautiful home and family for ourselves and the dog.
One night I was having trouble sleeping. I rolled and tossed for what seemed like hours. For some reason, I got up, went downstairs and found myself sitting at the piano. I put the top down, so as to be as quiet as I could. I stood on the soft pedal to add as much more quiet as possible, and I barely touched the keys. But, I did sit there, all alone, and played the piano in the pitch darkness. It felt so good that I remember also closing my eyes to add more darkness, but still I could play.
Suddenly I became aware of my bride sitting next to me on the bench. We never spoke. She put her arm around my shoulder and I went back to playing, still as quietly as possible. The dog came and crawled up in her lap in a not-so-little ball. And, there we were ... the three of us ... in the middle of the night...sitting at the piano ... in total quiet ... not a word spoken ... hearing "Polka Dots and Moonbeams" and "Green Dolphin Street" and "Misty" ... falling in love all over again ... sharing our souls singing in the dark.
That was 1986. She and the dog are both long gone now and have retained very little of my hearing. So is that beautiful house and the piano both a memory. But, it seems like yesterday we had our moment. I still find times when I have great difficulty going to sleep, even though I am well into my 80s and alone now. I wonder ... do you suppose I still have my Erroll Garner CDs?
Thank you so much for the reminder ... some of us are the fortunate ones who have our own personal Singing in the Dark moments over which we can shed a loving tear ... Thank You.
Dearest John, I am on the windy coast of Maine, singing in a Congregational church with a 250 year old tree on its doorstep. I took a moment before sound check to read a few of the comments today. Your words and story have me wiping grateful tears from my eyes. Thank you for sharing this beautiful, story. I will carry it with me as a treasure. A deep bow. Thank you my friend.
As it happens, I also played trumpet most of my life up to age about age 50. In the early days, as a young soldier, I played in a Dixieland Band at the Officer's Club at Fr. Devans, MA. Occasionally we would "go out on tour", and in a weeks time play 8 or 10 places all over Maine and New Hampshire. I especially remember one in particular at what was then Rivier College, in Nashua, NH. and another great night in Kennebunk, ME. I remember that territory and the ice blowing in the wind as well.
I also am very grateful that I found you and all of your efforts. I am sad that I missed your program in Bloomington, but I will not miss the next one. Good luck, break a leg and big hugs for you from me ... John
I’m currently reading the latest book by James Finley, The Healing Path: A memoir and an invitation. James was a young novice (directly out of high school) under Thomas Merton at the Abbey of Gethsemani. Singing in the Dark is in my mind as I read. Both are just what my heart and soul need right now. I’m staying with my youngest sister after her surgery, as we wait for pathology results later this coming week.
Beautiful words behind the song. I have a friend who is facing some personal problems many continents away and I so resonate with the line " there is always someone singing in the dark for you." Thank you for sharing your gifts, Carrie.
Beautiful song; powerful and wonderful to know that there is always someone singing in the dark for the healing and wholeness of our world.
Thank you. What comes to mind for me about singing in the dark is this. We have a mockingbird that lives nearby. It (may I call it she) loves to sing in the dark, right before the dawn. It used to be an irritant for me, especially when I wanted to hide for another hour under my warm comforter before I faced the darkness that I knew I would see even in the daylight. Still, her persistent calling was like a good friend calling the band together. With each song, she called another and another until the orchestra was gathered to sing the dark on its way. It takes courage I think, to sing in the dark. It means, there is more than darkness, and that no matter how dark, a song will bring strength to the one singing and the ones hearing. Now with this new thought from you, it will be a reminder to sing along (from under my comforter).
I love the image of “her persistent calling …like a good friend.” I also listen for the birds in the morning, and I like how you say it takes courage to sing in the dark. Perhaps it also takes courage to listen to the song.
It does take courage to listen. Thank you!
In the springtime we have some persistent orioles that sing every morning. I like what you say here about them.
My days usually begin in the dark- I am up before sunrise, and I read aloud morning prayer from Padraig O’Tuama’s book, Daily Prayer With the Corrymeela Community. There is a place in the middle to pause for silence; some days my silent time is not very quiet, but I keep coming back, trusting the process. I am also reading John O’Donohue’s book Eternal Echoes, a passage each day, and then I write a poem in response to what I have prayed, read, and experienced at the edge of night and day. This daily practice helps me keep my eyes and heart open to the unplanned, unexpected graceful moments that come each day, and I am learning to welcome them all. I also listen to lots of music! I discovered your music, Carrie, several years ago (at the right time) when I was facing some health issues. Your songs have become a soundtrack for my life❤️. Two days ago my husband and I travelled to Belmont, MA to see your concert- it was such a precious gift to see you in person, to be a part of the audience that sang and danced along- an unforgettable experience. Thank you!
Last night we sang along with Carrie in Randolph, MA. I woke up with my cheeks still hurting from all the smiling I did, even when I teared up.
Aye, now, you can’t miss with O’Tuama and O’Donohue! You are certainly on a beautiful, right path, with Carrie accompanying all of us ❤️
I took a deep sigh with the weight I felt
The weight of remembering
The 3:00 calls not answered
I rolled over instead
Oh, a quick silent prayer I think I’ve said
To justify staying warm in my bed
To justify staying warm in my bed….
The angels haven’t bothered me
They’ve let me sleep.
As I sit here now, all I can do is weep
And ask for forgiveness for my selfishness
And determine to seek a deeper selflessness
That’s willing to rise then fall on my knees
And offer my heart for those in need.
Then praise I can sing and peace I can send
Offered freely with hands lifted
It is Love’s work, Yes and Amen.
“The angels…let me sleep. So many of us awake in the night with you asking forgiveness, trying to do Love’s work. Beautiful.
Such beautiful and moving lyrics, Carrie, just reading reading them sent shivers up my spine. Thank you for sharing them.
Just lovely. Thank you friend.
Lovely. Your poems and songs touch the heart. Thank you. And a particular thank you also for singing my favorite song in Belmont the other night. Room at the Table is this priest's mantra.
Singing in the Dark has become a favorite since I received your new album... thank you, and thank John, for writing such a lovely, grounding piece of music in these troubled times. It's the melody I hear in my head as I move through the day, and sometimes when I'm awake at 3 am.
This is a beautiful song, and in your story, Brother Lawrence words send a shudder down the spine: "There is always someone singing in the dark at that vulnerable time of the night - for you, for me, for anyone awake or might need help at that hour."
What does "singing in the dark" mean to me? First of all, it resonates with me a lot, as I have been an early bird all my life.
"Singing in the dark" may be an activity that is physically silent, but which, as the songs do, makes other people's lives better. It may be doing tiny and quiet household chores early in the morning, before the work starts. It may be a baker working in the night so that a grocery opens with fresh bread on its shelves. A tired nurse or doctor may sing quietly at the end of their night shift, to keep themselves awake, attentive and motivated. Many people "sing in the dark" so that we can wake up and thrive. A good act of reciprocity is to find my own "night song": something I do before dawn for others.
(I replied with the same words to the Song Lab post "Singing in the Dark", but then I wrote it many days after the post had been published. I hope not to bore the readers by repeating the reply here)
My singing in the dark isn’t in the physical darkness but in the darkness that seems to often deep into my heart, soul, being this time of year with the shortening of day light. My singing is looking for present moment joys, the sun rising behind the brown and golden leaves, the meow of the cat, the greeting from my husband, the encouragement of a friend by text. Knowing there are people sending out song and love in the darkness of hours is comforting especially when so many things are so hard in our world today. Thanks to you and John for your song
I just recently discovered your music. The lyrics and sound you have put together touch my soul and deepen my prayer life. Music opens a connection to the heart, for me, that nothing else can reach. Thank you.
For me, the darkness of current events seems heavier because I have a lot of family in Israel, some serving in the army. My feelings about the situation in the physical world frequently do not line up with my Spiritual beliefs. So I sing in the dark by meditating on the only truths I hold near and dear- Peace , Light, and Loving for all! Namaste!
I absolutely love this song.
I have listened to many and appreciate your unique approach to lyrical content
My response is a copy of another reply to someone but think I obliquely applies.
A Reflection on Kimbra's Substack
When a Star Dies
It's hard
On us
When a young star
Supernovas
We maybe missed the signs
Or couldn't see
The flash blasts us
with thousands of bits
Of the relationshps we had built
With them
Whether acknowledged or not
The life rays we received from them
Resonated in our souls
Only because our souls
Resonated at the same frequencies
So we all
Have the innate power
To self resonate.
Birds sing to one another
Because they already knew
Some of the melodies
And were able to return the songs,
Or new interpretations,
Breathing them back
Into the air
So become a bird
And sing your notes.
Having had the luck to born with a voice that reminds me of the sound made when emptying a gravel truck, singing was never my long suit. But, I am a self taught piano player and I'm good enough to impress my close friends. Also, I am lucky enough to have married late in life and someone who did not want a ring for an engagement gift, but instead wanted a grand piano. (I think the two were related.) As older adults, we created no children but made a beautiful home and family for ourselves and the dog.
One night I was having trouble sleeping. I rolled and tossed for what seemed like hours. For some reason, I got up, went downstairs and found myself sitting at the piano. I put the top down, so as to be as quiet as I could. I stood on the soft pedal to add as much more quiet as possible, and I barely touched the keys. But, I did sit there, all alone, and played the piano in the pitch darkness. It felt so good that I remember also closing my eyes to add more darkness, but still I could play.
Suddenly I became aware of my bride sitting next to me on the bench. We never spoke. She put her arm around my shoulder and I went back to playing, still as quietly as possible. The dog came and crawled up in her lap in a not-so-little ball. And, there we were ... the three of us ... in the middle of the night...sitting at the piano ... in total quiet ... not a word spoken ... hearing "Polka Dots and Moonbeams" and "Green Dolphin Street" and "Misty" ... falling in love all over again ... sharing our souls singing in the dark.
That was 1986. She and the dog are both long gone now and have retained very little of my hearing. So is that beautiful house and the piano both a memory. But, it seems like yesterday we had our moment. I still find times when I have great difficulty going to sleep, even though I am well into my 80s and alone now. I wonder ... do you suppose I still have my Erroll Garner CDs?
Thank you so much for the reminder ... some of us are the fortunate ones who have our own personal Singing in the Dark moments over which we can shed a loving tear ... Thank You.
Thank you for sharing your precious memory of singing in the dark ♥️
Dearest John, I am on the windy coast of Maine, singing in a Congregational church with a 250 year old tree on its doorstep. I took a moment before sound check to read a few of the comments today. Your words and story have me wiping grateful tears from my eyes. Thank you for sharing this beautiful, story. I will carry it with me as a treasure. A deep bow. Thank you my friend.
Thank you also. I cried along with you.
As it happens, I also played trumpet most of my life up to age about age 50. In the early days, as a young soldier, I played in a Dixieland Band at the Officer's Club at Fr. Devans, MA. Occasionally we would "go out on tour", and in a weeks time play 8 or 10 places all over Maine and New Hampshire. I especially remember one in particular at what was then Rivier College, in Nashua, NH. and another great night in Kennebunk, ME. I remember that territory and the ice blowing in the wind as well.
I also am very grateful that I found you and all of your efforts. I am sad that I missed your program in Bloomington, but I will not miss the next one. Good luck, break a leg and big hugs for you from me ... John
John. Thank you for sharing this 💕🦩
I’m currently reading the latest book by James Finley, The Healing Path: A memoir and an invitation. James was a young novice (directly out of high school) under Thomas Merton at the Abbey of Gethsemani. Singing in the Dark is in my mind as I read. Both are just what my heart and soul need right now. I’m staying with my youngest sister after her surgery, as we wait for pathology results later this coming week.
Prayers for you and your sister!