Over. And over again.

Stuffed with questions.  Overloaded.  When I catch my cuff in a philosophical thought-demanding whirlwind, I remind myself to feel.  Beautifully-informed thoughts are ones graced with feelings.  I want these to be my gems…the ones that inspire and stay with me.  Sensitivity is such a precious thing.  Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not.

The process of pining through questions is somewhat like learning how to play a song that was written years ago.  I pick one out and sit with it.  Listen to it.  Over and over again.  Try to pronounce the words.  Listen again.  Over and over.  I sing together with the motions my hands make on the guitar.  It feels like science.  The rhythm, chord transitions, and voice fluctuations.  A language I’m learning to sing.  Carrying out traditions.  These spaces where feelings are expressed.  They need(ed) to be.  Sometimes things get tough.  Carrying on isn’t easy…but it’s important.  I hope I never loose sight of where this song came from.

The more I practice traditional music, the more I uncover its complexities.  And at the same time, some of what used to seem so far away…is now in my view.  This song I play over and over again stays in my pocket if I give it time.  Like the lucky rock you’ve been given to hold.  This song I have studied.  If I’m lucky, repetition becomes a stronghold from which to paint. A colorful canvas that waits for us.

Eventually death arrives.  But songs live on.  How we play them.  These songs we feel.


And over again.


3 thoughts on “Over. And over again.

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