Night reflects the cool moon that shimmers above me. It is robust and full, but hidden behind the various clouds that pass lazily by. It is cool, not cold, but cool enough to feel the air. It is quiet, but not too quiet, the kind of silence that is cause for concern. Today's burden is of quaint design. I no longer feel the pain of today's petty frustrations and lost moments. Does one notice those little moments that maybe the right word, the phrasing or glance may have changed a conversation's outcome? Is it so easy to recall what could have been or what should have been. The ipod is plugged in, and I am tuned out. The songs dance in my head and some of them remind me of simple, happier times. I am not the nostalgic type- at all. I deplore most sentiment because clinging to the past negates the present. It is the present we live in after all, the past is only a memory. Memories are like a double-edged sword- they are a constant to what was, but also can bind us to that- like a trap, and there is no key or password that can relinquish their power to sway one's fancy and whims. It is the present we live in, the current, evolving, constant and most alive present. That is the power and grace we strive for. The past is really gone, the future is so close, but not here yet. It is the tease that can also divert us from the living moment. The future is like a most beautiful woman, seductive and tempting, within arms reach but really not accessible. So we stare at her forgetting where we are as the seconds whittle away to hours.
I speak to this moment because this moment is all I have. I am blessed with riches and good health. I enjoy the solitude of this moment writing. It is because seclusion brings out my voice, that voice that whispers to me in a most unconventional way. Its a musical voice. There is melody and cadence and constant rhythm. There are notes and words and a particular beauty because the music is mine. Notice that with music we claim it like no other art. You can own a painting but it's not really yours. You can own a library but the books are available to all. Music can be purchased by anyone, and yet, we claim songs as ours. They resonate to us, they sing to us and represent a moment, a feeling that is unique and individual only to us. And the feelings last forever, they are imprinted on our consciousness with an exactness like mathematics.
It is getting colder and I am getting sleepy. I shall continue this post. Angel of the Divine Sword? Part of another story.
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