"You don't have to say anything.
But you have got to mean everything."
-John McCauley
So. Often on this space, I've taken it upon myself to delicately muse about the different fibers of my being... My sister, my penchant regard for heartstrings, my cherished tastebuds, etc. And although I've already born testimony about my kindred-like affinity for music... I'm not even a little afraid of repetition.
Of all the things conspiring in my favor to make L.I.F.E. Lovely, Inspiring, Fervent, and Exquisite, I hold those alchemists of language and melody- conjuring up the elixirs that we know as song- almost solely responsible. My mind reels and reels throughout the day; sometimes to an irritating degree. But when it meets an empty moment, it so often (perhaps involuntarily) grants invitation to What Ifisms: "What if I had to choose ONE song to listen to for the rest of my life?" ... "What if each thought had a melody? Each feeling? Each decision?" ... "What if there were no such thing as red heads?" ... "What if I lost my hearing tomorrow? What would be the last song I would want to hear?" There are a few things that I can think of that would be more tragic than a world void of music... But only a few.
Last night I saw this healing elixir come to life on stage. Of course it wasn't my first time... (When it comes to live music, I guess I am "THAT kind of girl".) I forget, each time, the thrills that watching music brings. Watching the synergy of strings, percussion, and keys coming together to create the combination of chords that melody into something that you know was instrumented entirely for your ears and yours alone. Watching lips relinquish the parade of words that for whatever reason seem to echo within your core. It is this art form for which I find the most appreciation and also the most ineptness at expressing my gratitude. Songs with words, songs without words, songs with words I don't understand... It doesn't matter. After having the blessed privilege of Opera-ing (fancy, right?) for the very first time, I was still at a loss for a word to describe the fullness of that experience weeks afterward. There just doesn't seem to be a word in the English vernacular with which to adequately describe it.
Mother Earth herself is a "benefactoress" (to borrow a word from Anne Shirley herself) of inspiration. And the more I seek out her assets, the more inspired I become by the proliferation of her amenities. Point: There is so much in life to be happy about. And though it is not Mama Earth herself that creates the music which is such sugar to my soul, it is She who provides the inspiration for those who create the art that I consider one of my most favorite things to be happy about. So, in addition to all the countless other things for which I owe her gratitude, I thank Mother Earth for being the living inspiration that she is, so that I can bask in her wonder and so that those far more eloquent, poetic, and awakened than I, can translate that inspiration into "that which cannot be spoken, and on which it is impossible to remain silent". {Insert delicate and enraptured sigh HERE}. I think it is safe to say, that music is, and will always be, my mistress.
Peace and Love.
