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.