Everything on the page blurs together- the notes, the treble clef, the key signature, the time signature, the ties, the music jargon, the slurs, the dots and carrots above various notes, the repeat signs, and the dynamic suggestions.
Everything arranges itself into an emotion, and I become enraptured in the music as it sinks into my very soul.
I am more intimate with the music than with my own family.
I know every crevice and the deepest secrets of every space, every line, and every bar line.
I become the music.
I feel myself stiffen with the drama of the climax and relax and sway with the sweet melody of the resolution.
My tears seep through the bell and finger holes in the form of pleasant vibrato as I picture a scene in which a child loses its best friend.
I neither hear nor see anything until I am through telling the story on the page.
However, this does not come instinctively.
The music begins as an unfamiliar, uncharted forest through which I must navigate.
At first, I am lost in the music in an entirely different sense of the word.
No matter. Eventually I find myself.
I am the music.