With the noble exception of Searching For The Echoes, all my songs at that point had dealt with love (possibly unrequited). That is of course an overstatement because right then, when secondary school was sadly turning into university, it had just dawned on me that feelings did not even equal love. Thus all my songs written to date suddenly proved irrelevant, and indeed I had no other choice but begin the humbling process of re-writing.
This one apparently had to do with a different kind of love. The four of us, called ‘undividable’ by Mam, had just ended our two-week sojourn in Triberg, Schwarzwald, where the friend of our family had got married to a lovely German guy called Herbert, who I owe many of my music highs, the highest being early-Move derived. Having spent 10+ years in a one-room flat we were still strong as family – obviously each of us had developed vast inner spaces to secure relative sanity in these claustrophobic conditions. Anyway, the prospect of 10 hours in a car heading back home was not at all unpleasant for me, given that I had someone to come back to in Poland at last. At the beginning of the summer I had nearly made it with the lovely new cellist in the band and I was looking forward to full paradise now.
Perhaps this unusually serene state of my heart provided room for being sidetracked on the way. What a side track it was. We had left the friendly house on the side of a gentle hill very early in the morning, virtually at dawn, and the sun was still about to rise when Dad the Ojo was relinquishing the safeties of Schwarzwald-Baar-Kries and entering the 81 Motorway north. The traffic was equal to none and the concrete artefacts seemed just an innocent part of the landscape. A Schwarzwald evergreen forest was looming still like a mellotron wall far left and morning mists were dancing like ghosts against the trees. In this blessed second with the promise of all the eternity I was hanging still in the air between the fulfillment of a good holiday and the expectation of the imminent bliss.
The next day we went to our grandma’s house with a garden. I grabbed my electric guitar I had used to record my newest demo (a happy one for the cello girl) and sat in the garden unplugged, full sun blasting. The melody came effortlessly, a good one I could see, and the lyrics naturally reflected the motorway flash the tune was somehow a part of.
Incredibly oddly, up to then I had hardly ever been alone in a forest or in the mountains. I had wasted the best years of my life obsessively listening to music, desperately socialising or crying over the spilt blood of my broken heart and treating nature as furniture. A Breath of Eternity was a 100+th song in my songbook but the very second of a long series of meditations in green (Searching for the Echoes being a non-personal story anyway). The path had been unlocked for me through Robert Frost poems and my childhood hiking trips with Ojo. Now I was finally called to the wonders of creation never reaching the end.
…wonders of a lifetime right there before your eyes…
See you there,