Do you ever sit and look out the window at the grey sky and just think to yourself...I don't have enough time.  Time...that rhythm that seems to bring form to the day, as if it were the very fabric of reality made up of universal heartbeats.   It is the space between that I am interested in, the place where all can be and yet nothing is.  The place where the limitations so cooly placed, float away as if a fragment of a dream.   Yet some days it is difficult to listen for that silence.   For the space in between. 

That is where I have been sitting today, feeling as if time is taking me over, the tick tocking of it defeaning in my ears. I want to breath in and out, and then expand my senses into the space, where stillness sits. It's more than just physical silence, which in itself can be hard to find in a time when noise sits on the periphery of my skin always. No, it is more than that. It is where the limits of expectation can dissolve, running like colors on wet paper, bleeding through all those neatly drawn lines of being. It is a place where I can sit and feel you beside me, despite that you are not. 

I expect a lot of myself and work hard to achieve it. I internalize criticism and then work to negate it, it simply is what I do. I take on the expectations of others and give them a shape beyond what I need to. Musically, I always am pushing myself to improve, to learn new things, but somehow the days slip away from me, in the chasm of time. i can never accomplish enough, never be good enough. So, once and awhile it's good to remind myself that music is as much about the notes we DON'T play as it is about the notes we do. As much about being open as being "tight". That it is not just about the notes, but about the spaces that exist between the notes. It is too narrow a focus to always be thinking about what is being said. At times the vision must expand. the molecules extending out from the illusionary form to understand the entirty of the entity. Much as the space around our bodies defines it as much as the space within. 

Night has fallen, lying upon my brow, still. For just this moment I am sitting and forgetting about the bazillion things I have to do, about practicing and improving, and writing and doing. I close my eyes and I can hear whispers, a thousand still thoughts, pollinating me with their richness.



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