I am listening to Bach’s Wohltemperiertes Klavier. Today it has the same effect on the pace of my heartbeat and my soul as the first time I really listened to it, as a ten-year-old in one of my piano lessons. I still see my piano teacher’s allure at the piano. She did mark me a lot, but I was a bit young to emotionally grasp some of her lessons back then. I went to this music and folkdance event today, on occasion of the sheep having gone to the mountains in the village across in the next valley. It made me happy to listen to the music and see the dancing, and sad because I have been neglecting this need within me, and I know that part of my stress could be greatly reduced by making more music. I remember living at home and playing for no reason. The piano just drew me in and I just played for a while, and during that time, I did not worry. It is a different kind of concentration than the one mostly used in writing work. In this village, I did not get the opportunity to practice an instrument. I have found myself taking notes, though, and starting to sing, in the silence of my room. Bursting into song. I misunderstood fieldwork. I got it wrong. I am so stressed I forget to breathe and I am surprised that I suffocate. It is true that fieldwork is not exactly a normal life situation, and this is what makes it harder. Yet, I cannot merely bet on its transitory nature, just like I cannot be content with the transitory nature of life itself. I cannot keep it all locked up, and think that typing it up will provide enough emotional release. I want to live more fully again, and spend time with people my age, and be somewhat relieved by their youth and their jokes and their mischief and their willingness to embrace life. I’d like to think that I am an optimistic person with a dark sense of humour, but with a lot of need for joking around, but I have been so caught up with all kinds of other things. This being-bottled-up makes my body receptive to all kinds of ailments. Being happy is often easier than I think. Worry less. Enjoy more. Do not take it so personally. Remember Kahlil. Be content with the ways in which it is not up to me. Wear down my clarinet like this accordeon I saw at the festival today.
Fill the air with more music. For no reason at all. And try to remember that tune that I heard played by the Vienna Art Orchestra. It’s called ‘Everything Has Its Own Time’. Truth of the year, quite possibly. Yours musically, beat-shell
1 comment:
You're not going to become a busker, are you? We've all been tempted to give it all up and just play the accordion, but you've got to press on.
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