I live life through music: a bittersweet journey of perils, passions, and prospects, all composed into a melodious story.
I appreciate those who understand what music has revealed to them., but not everyone has this gift.
I watch the guide of our journey, forceful, red-faced, but exasperated, as he tries to press this artistry into each of us, his voice a dull roar:
"See the music! Hear the music! Feel the music! Experience the music! Understand the music."
I sense moods changing, smiles disappearing, and eyes spinning as fast as they wish time would move.
I join the weary voyagers, reluctantly pouring out songs of sadness and oppression, unwillingly trudging through the minutes.
I notice bodies tense as each harsh correction is given.
I close my eyes and attempt to open myself to each interpretation, each tone, each theme.
I strain to hear the emotions the writer feels, feel the notes, and note every little detail the composer has carefully penned.
We see, we hear, we feel, we experience, we understand.
But yet, we don't.
Our guide knows one thing that we will soon realize:
Sooner or later, we all go to face the music,
And then everything is still.