geo geller

February 20, 2014

The Boy Who Woke Up the Sun

Filed under: — GeoGeller @ 4:25 am

A View From the Other Side Series

Island & Land Stories

“The Boy Who Woke Up the Sun”

dedicated to you and to wonder

pdf version
geo geler
geo geller – 280 9th Ave #20B – NYC NY 10001
copyright 1991 ver. 10/2/91 drmrclm2

(* = picture for story board film or childrens book)
– a work in progress –


Synopsis of Story line: Told by an old man. This is a story about
me and my father and my father’s father. My father told me that his
father and his father before him and for generations since the
beginning of time it was our family who woke the sun up and put
it to sleep. I don’t know why we were chosen, but every day we woke
the sun up with the rooster… I don’t know why the rooster was chosen
either, maybe it was to wake us up before the sunrise, but every
morning there he was and we were too, talking to the sun…
when I was still in my mother I could hear my fathers drum.

I could tell it was morning because at sunrise it started off
very slow to gently wake the sun up and not to alarm the sun
and have it wake up angry… this is very important I was to
learn later… The drum would beat softly and tenderly you could
barely hear it.. I remember when I was a baby my father would
play the same soft rhythm to me… it was like floating in air…
My father said it was to wake the sun up in me… it sounded like
a soft wave against the beach, he would also hum very quietly…
It is said the reason the morning sun gently caresses us is because
the sun was happy to rise in the morning and went to sleep happy…

When I was a young my father would take me everywhere to the tops
of mountains and the bottom most point of the earth… he said I
needed to know the gift the sun brings in order to understand and
wake it up and put it to sleep… we would feel the warmth of the
sun and listen to the plants growing, the river, the trees, the
wind, the animals and birds and he would play and feel their
rhythms and play with them and they would play back with him, they
were his teacher and mine…

It was important to touch everything
the sun touched so that I could see that without the sun there is
no life… its rhythm comes to life when the sun touches it. He
wanted me to know how important it is that I wake the sun up
otherwise the world would be dark and cold and life will end…
I should know everything that the sun touched before he would
let me play and wake up the sun… Every morning I would get up
with him and the rooster and listen and watch as he gently rose
up the sun with such feeling I sometimes felt happy and sad at
the same time… I would listen to his drumming it started off
very softly you could barely hear it… it was slow and gently
rose from the darkness of the night… when the sun hit my face
as I sat next to my father it was like I swallowed a bolt of
lightning as I watched everything it touched slowly come to life…

My father hands moved slowly and gently to the rhythm of the
rising sun… the music came from someplace deep within him…
and when the morning sun touched him it always brought a glow
and smile to his face… he once told me when the warmth of the
morning sun caressed him he was… he couldn’t find words to
describe it… but he said I would know when it was my turn…
every morning I would watch the shadows dance with my fathers
hands as he played… his life in his hands caressing the sun
to rise and bring life to all living things…

What greater gift and honor could one have he would say to me…
than to wake the sun up and watch it breathe the rhythm of life
into everything…

As the sun rose in the sky the head of the drum would get tighter
and the sound stronger and higher… the rhythm would start
slowly at first and then faster and louder and faster and
faster and louder, the beat would wake everybody up and the
rhythm would change as the sun rose… the drum would play with
the wind, the birds, the bees, the sound of the trees in the wind…
he would say to me I had to learn to listen and feel, and create
my own language… my father would say play with the silence
and not just the sound… he would tell me to be free and let
my hands dance… dance like the wind with my hands…

As I got older my father would say to me to listen not only
to what I hear but to what I don’t hear… later on I came to
understand what he meant… My father was a good listener…
people would come from all around to talk to him and ask him
things… he would sit with his drum between his legs and
listen.. my father was a man of few words… with big eyes
that smiled… he was quiet, on the inside and had his own
language… when he was ready he would play and they would
listen very carefully to the movement and feeling that he put
into his drumming… and they would go away feeling better…
and said how wise my father was… As I got older my father
and I would listen together and I began to understand…

Sometimes he would tell me stories, times when we had a big
family when the oldest to the youngest would take turns on the
drum saying good morning to the sun until the sun had risen in
the sky and then everyone would celebrate with a big feast to
break the new day…. And all day long you could hear the
drummers from all around playing and celebrating… practicing
new rhythms and phrases… when someone was happy he could do
nothing to control himself he had to play his drums and everyone
could tell for miles around what he was feeling… the drummers
would talk to each other from the mountain tops… telling stories
and news through their drums…

All drums are magical but it was only my family who had the drum that woke up the sun and put it
to sleep.. Sometimes the drummers would come together to play,
celebrate and talk to nature… there were rain rhythms, planting
rhythms, hunting rhythms, spring, summer, winter and fall
rhythms, moon rhythms, there were birth rhythms, funeral,
marriage rhythms, midday rhythms, and siesta rhythms, to name
a few… and then there were the sunset songs that would start
fast and then slowly as the sun was setting turn to soft gentle
phrases as if they were singing a lullaby until the sun was
quiet and asleep and the night would visit us. We would eat and
celebrate the day and play our drums until we fell asleep…
And wake up with the rooster and a song in our hearts to wake
up the sun.

copyright 1993 – The boy who woke up the sun by geo geller
280 9th ave #20B NYC 10001

No Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL

Leave a comment

Powered by WordPress