music constantly courses through my mind,
through my blood and my very bones, it seems.
melodies bubble up,
rhythms dance,
words join them,
and songs are born;
while strolling along my dirt road,
driving in my car,
tidying my house,
while holding a young child in my arms.
anytime.
anywhere.
music is part of the very fabric of my being,
it weaves a tapestry of my life.
I write because I must.
if I don’t, an incoming song will keep me awake at night
until I finally acquiesce and get up
and put pen to paper,
or fingertips to keyboard,
and, in the old days, wrap my arms around my guitar.
and even now, with the ability to play guitar stripped from me,
still the songs come.
I cannot stop them.
of course, I do not wish to.
they are my best friends, my deepest confidants, my most trusted counsellors.
I am but a conduit. I listen. I take notes. I write. and I sing.
because I must.
when I sing the energy in my body resonates on a higher vibration, somehow.
that perhaps sounds weird, or woo-woo, but it’s true, too.
it is a profound and deeply moving experience. healing, too.
and it is a pure delight.
and fun. so much fun. joy-filled.
my body, heart and soul are awakened and enlivened
when I sing,
and when the songs come through.
and yet, sometimes, the inner demons ask, who cares?
I don’t know.
I really don’t know who cares,
and perhaps that doesn’t even matter.
perhaps what matters is that the muse comes
and demands my attention
until I listen
until I take notes
until I sing.
and so I do.
simply because
music constantly courses
through my mind,
through my blood
through my very bones,
it seems.
music is part of the very fabric of my being,
it weaves a tapestry of my life.
