[Note: This is a short post to fill the gap between what came before and what comes after. Something to whet the appetite. Something to cleanse the palette.
Like a shot of espresso, before the ice cream… ;-) ]
It’s time to start making music again.
It’s time to go to work.
I get up before dawn now. Because of the soundproofing my new studio, I no longer have to wait until midnight for the street noise to fade before I can begin recording. I like getting up early. It feels better to my body. The room is cool and dark when I wake.
I usually head straight for the shower. First priority: wake up the meat carcass. Then: fuel it with good coffee, drag it to the meditation cushion, and lash it to the mast to start the day’s work proper.
Sometimes music comes out of thin air, as easily as breathing. Sometimes, it follows me around, quietly insistent. Othertimes it stalks me down with fierce unbridled intention.
Over the last week or so I’ve begun to notice that the pieces from my daily practice are playing on a loop, quietly, somewhere deep down in the landscape of my mind. Their voices weave themselves into a fabric that has fast become the constant and seamless backdrop of my day-to-day.
They are there when I wake. They are there while I shower. They are there while I wait for my morning coffee. They are in my head while I run. While I eat. While I brush my teeth. They are the constant background to every conversation. They follow me around like a swarm of butterflies, unceasing.
I hear snatches of them echoing in my dreams.
They have started to crowd out anything else in my head. My mind’s orbit has become an ever-decreasing spiral, with the flaming sun of these pieces at it’s heart.
That is how I know it’s time to go to work. ;-)
Thanks for reading this, I wish you well,