In the beginning was music, my invisible friend. I was inside it and it coursed through me as
blood through a vein. How does one describe something which is of the spirit yet entirely wed
to the physicality of matter? Creativity in this world.
Music and I suffused each other, but we were not identical. Music was free. But my freedom
was ever partial. Although my experiences in its warm current were rapturous, it felt like I
was always giving chase, like a famished lover. I could never ultimately merge with its beauty.
Nevertheless..notwithstanding..even so..I believe it will happen. Until then, however,
the promise must remain the beckoning earnest of life to come.
Notes on the vicissitudes of the creative life.