Several streams of my life are roiling. On the outside I'm sluggish and over-smoking. On the inside, old questions and issues have cycled back into prominence.
I welcome their return...this is the work of my Soul.
I curse their return...for I have no "answers."
I am whining...because it really hurts.
I am exhausted...because they have returned with redoubled intensity.
I am humbled...what a vote of confidence; God thinks I have what it takes to face this stuff.
A friend is thinking of me today and sends this email:
"As an artist, you must be a prophet, not in the sense that you foretellI like finding this message in my box tonight. At lunch, tears of frustration flowing down my cheeks in response to my companion's question "What do you want to do?" I said, "All I want to do is make music. The highest deep, the most profound uplift I've ever experienced has come always from music. It's the only hard work that this lazy woman is ever motivated to do."
things to come, but in the sense that you tell your audience, at the risk of
their displeasure, the secrets of their own hearts. The reason why they need
an artist is that no community altogether knowns its own heart, and by
failing in this knowledge, a community deceives itself on the one subject
concerning which ignorance is death. For the evils which come from
ignorance, you as artist prophet suggest no remedy. Your remedy is the art
itself, the poetry itself, the dance itself, the song itself. Art is the
community's medicine for the worst disease of the mind, the corruption of
-- Book of the Principles of Art by Robin G. Collingwood, 1938
There's always enough space, light, encouragement, challenge, humor, stimulation, peace, reward, education, romance, juice and shadow when I make music. No identity crisis when I'm at the keyboard. No confusion about etiquette or discretion at the piano. No boredom.
The path at my feet....the keys at hand.