It is a hot Monday afternoon. I am spending it with my bodhran and tipper. There are times when the heavy beating of the heart must be borne into the world by force. This is such an afternoon.
My memories of joy resonate through the invisible waves, created within my pulsating solitude. I feel all I have been, and ever will be, through the wooden rim I hold against my breast. I celebrate. I cry. I let my hands dance over the head, unthinking, mindless. I release myself into sound.
I play what is drawn from the well within. I accompany recorded music, reaching into the mystery of time and space to join with others, who might not otherwise welcome me.
How accepting those strangers are, how innocent in their audible release, that once created cannot be contained by the frailty of human ego, or prejudice. The unguarded sanctity of creating music, in the presence of perceived peers, exposes artlessness unsullied by the hope of adulation.
In this way, I play with talented musicians who have freely offered me the best that they can be. In return, I do not tell them that I regard them as equals. This has been working out very well for all concerned.
I pause only to write these words, and now leave them to reclaim the solitary heat and rhythm of my day.
|RECIPES :: Cast
Wind: SE 15 km/h
Sunrise 5:46 AM EDT
Sunset 9:07 PM EDT
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