From Walking Down the Street in the Spirit Place © 2006 A. Jones The Choir Invisible I am listening to a CD that is imbued with the communication frequency of dolphins, whales and crickets. It is a sub-auto vibration that is not heard, but felt. When I begin to feel the dolphins I well up with compassion and playfulness. I have strong family ties and weep at cruelty. I like best to swim with my companions. Then I feel the whales. I clap my jaw and in its reverberation I see who is coming and who is going. Its echo tells me where my loved ones are, how they are feeling and what they had for dinner. The crickets, though; when I am the crickets I am most human. The music I make, if they only knew, walking swiftly by in the sun-dappled grass, or hearing me as a distant night murmur, a little-heeded backdrop to their more important chimes of passion – the music I make, when slowed to a pitch more suited for their ears, is so nearly like their human choirs, so true in its eight note scale its major third suspended fourth and sweet resolve – If they would only stop at 7.8 hertz and listen once they could not help but hear from out my carapace their own Earthly Hallelujia. Listen: I am praising God beneath you.