What is it about music ... so magical, so ephemeral, so loving and safe and light as a dust mouse fished out from under an unmoved couch? What is it that woos me so completely. I surrender without making a move. I am gone without taking a single breath. Stripped naked when I never had any clothes on in the first place.
There is no threat or doubt in it. It holds nothing back and neither do I ... or perhaps I should say, "neither CAN I."
If I believed in the kind of "reincarnation" Hollywood and some Buddhists credit, I would die and return as a bit of music ... return enthralling and enthralled all at once ... the lost and found of everything ... every-thing.
The trouble is, there is no place to be lost in. No place to hold, no place to let go, no-place to be no place. Every-thing. Without moving a fingernail. I am taken and nothing is left. Musicians are lucky, the poor bastards.
The music I roll over and play "life" for is just music I like ... or love ... or swoon to ... and forget to swoon for or in whose presence I melt. You have yours, I have mine. So to speak. Let's not demean it by calling it "love" or "mystery" or "magic."
Like some minuscule wavelet tapping the lake-side sand ... lipping, lipping, lipping ... so quiet, so complete, so ... kettle-drum at dawn!
I will never leave you.
A loving hug without the pressure.