Maybe at the end of the road I'll see the clean, tidy narrative. Maybe when I get to the end of it, I'll know whether I was the protagonist or the antagonist, the good guy or the bad guy, a comically and tragically flawed villian or a redeemable heroine. Maybe I'll see that I was a silly twit of a woman or an unsung siren, someone wildly shooting from the hip or a true gunslinger. A princess or a witch. The Preacher or the Marshall.



Friday, February 11, 2011

The worn smooth oar...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7I9tCW-Q1o

^^^Press play.

So...I've been on a musical journey. What is beautiful about this journey it it is both external and internal. I have a positive symptoms of this exploration including: more music, new accounts on mediafire and megaupload, lingering on Audio Archive and listening to much, much more and increasingly eclectic music and seeking out live music.

The unmeasurable change is internal. Imagine, a wide, dark river. At each bank, dark, dense woods, the trees creating an early twilight on some still day. A fog snakes out around the dense, mossy hillside and coy fingers ribbon out curiously onto the water, so calm. So cool and still it quenches the thirst simply to be near it. The canoe moves graciously through it and the water parts with good nature. The oar is well worn and fits perfectly in the hand. The canoe and her captain are dwarfed by the river and the forest.

I can go forever. There is no end to this river, to the inside journey of the feelings and stories and dreams music can create. The same song a thousand times and a thousand different songs...both will take me along the river inside if I choose.

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