Black and White

"It's language is a language which the soul alone understands, but which the soul can never translate."

                   -Arnold Bennett

                                                                                                                                                                                          

I often find that my mind words in terms of black and white. Math comes the easiest; there's only one answer for anything. Writing is different because it's free, unpredictable. 

And like writing, life is unpredictable. 

When I was younger, moving was equivalent to the Armageddon. Living elsewhere than a place I'd known all my life could be nothing less than the end of the world. Just that black and white.

So you can imagine my surprise when the first streaks of gray appeared. Or maybe you can't. Such a moral is often insignificant when held up against the grand scheme of things. Regardless, it was a momentous occasion for me. New people and houses were accepted as friends and homes. I could consider a life other than the one I had known. Never before could things be anything less than pure ivory or ebony. 

Ironically enough, as soon as this gray scale of contemplation had shaded itself, I was to return to my hometown for good, resetting the world to its original 50's kitchen checkerboard tiles. It was hard; I had two homes now with a constant fear of losing touch with one. Perhaps due to my struggles not to lose it or merely the phenomenon that is maturing, my vision began to gray again.

Math is hard now, and writing feels more comfortable. Black and white each still claim their respective ends of the spectrum, but it's starting to bleed a little more and more in the middle as each day goes. 

Maybe one day it'll finally be silver. 

~E

Faces

"The truest expression of a people is in its dance and music." 
                   Agnes de Mile
                                                                                                                                              
Everywhere I go, every place I've been, every place I'll ever be, I'll find faces. So many faces, and so many lives that I can never comprehend just how vast the intricate undertones of our humanity really are. 
The crossing guard I pass every morning on the way into school. She's not that old but not that young either. Why is she there? Doesn't she have her own kids to take to school? 
The cashier at the gas station that rings up my granola bars in the mornings. He waves a farewell and says to take it easy. Doesn't he know that life is never really easy? Or is that precisely why he's telling me to try? 
The librarian that welcomes me when I come to work through the afternoons. Her smiles are always so fleeting, a mere facade to the barren expression that quickly takes over. What can I do to make them genuine? What would help her? 
Every life has its own story; I only get to see mere snapshots. I can muddle and muddle all I wish about the whos and whats and whys, but in the end, I will never fathom that there are billions of lives as important and meaning-filled as mine. But I can imagine. And I know that I will try. 
~E

What the Eyes Can Hear

"Do you know that our soul is composed of harmony?"

                   - Leonardo DaVinci
                                                                                                                                                                                           

Because I can see, my thoughts have shape. 

But because I can hear, my thoughts have life. 

Each song creates an infinite amount of stories, 
Something you can see if you just listen.

This is one of mine. 

Slow breath to life

I'm looking through a world of emerald water and black blood

In waves, rotating the cavern with sedated centripetal force. 

Suspended in a weightless pressure.

Robotic sighs like fragmented peals through the water.

Suddenly the encompassing roof of stone frames the sun, 

And the gloom is illuminated by a vacant light. 

There is no dust to hide in the shade of sunbeams. 

Hair lissome and free as dead seaweed. 

Sand? Perhaps some in a realm far below. 

But I cannot feel it. 

Then still to awaken. 

I am alone. 

A twitch. 

Ripples of salt deposits etch their names across the grotto walls. 

Each bubble of air, quivering to the strike of piano. 

Another twitch, another fight. 

Another fit of swimming with muscles that refuse to wake. 

The sun fades; twilight falls. 

Deep sigh to resign. 

A little mermaid missing her fins, drowning

Eternal

~E

Don't Know, Don't Tell

"I used to think anyone doing anything weird was weird. Now I know that it is the people that call others weird that are weird." 
                   - Paul McCartney
                                                                                                                                                                        
If I play my music too loud, don't tell me to turn it down. 
You don't know what that resonance does for my soul. 

If I want to dye my hair silver, don't tell me not to do it. 
You don't know me well enough to make any decisions, let alone one of a simple hair color. 

If I wake up tired from a late night of drafting, don't tell me that I should have gone to bed earlier. 
You don't know how little time I have during the day to do what I truly love. 

If I act too childish, don't tell me to grow up. 
You don't know how much longer my path runs through the woods.  

If I ignore reality for my books, don't tell me to get a life. 
You don't know that I have already experienced more than you can count on your fingers.

If I wear a flower crown in the middle of winter, don't tell me that the 60's are long gone. 
You don't know that I love that time and what it stood for. 

And if I am to endure more than 18 years on this planet, don't tell me how to live my life. 
Because you don't know what has happened to make me choose such a life. 

Only I know, and only I will tell. 

~E

Ending a Long Week

"Some people have lives; some people have music." 
                   - John Green, Will Grayson
                                                                                                                                                                                            
Hey, guys, congrats! It's almost the end of the week, and you know what that means:

THE WEEKEND

But alas, we still have one day left, and as anyone can attest, they can be so awfully long. So if you guys had a long day today like I did, this one is for you. Just remember: no matter what life gives, you're strong enough to take it and dish it back twicefold. 

~E

Let There Be Rest Today

"Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent."
                   - Victor Hugo

                                                                                                                                             

Welcome to the symphony!

In honor of my recent performance at the Embassy Theatre, today's post will be about one of the concert's feature songs:

Rest 

by Frank Ticheli

This piece is a tribute from Ticheli to his friend, conductor Carl St. Clair, and his wife, Susan, in honor of the memory of their late son, Cole Carson St. Clair. The song began as a choral version known as There Will Be Rest composed in 1999 before transmuting to the orchestra in 2010. Inspiration for the music is derived from a poem of the same name written by Sara Teasdale:

"There Will Be Rest" 

There will be rest, and sure stars shining

Over the roof-tops crowned with snow,

A reign of rest, serene forgetting, 

The music of stillness, holy and low. 

I will make this world of my devising

Out of a dream in my lonely mind. 

I shall find the crystal of peace, - above me

Stars I shall find. 

If you listen closely to the song, with both an open heart and mind, you can hear each word of the poem where it lies among the notes. 

Have a good week everyone and happy Dr. Martin Luther King Junior Day!

~E