Monday, nearly five o’clock in the morning. I don’t find sleep. The pleasure and elation I get from my work can only thinly veil the paradox and state of imbalance my life has to reach so they can exist. Am I running from myself or do I really find true joy in creation? On a day - or night like this, doubt is permissible, takes full power and roots itself in my mind. Full moon is nigh, confusion is spreading. And a sense of sadness too. That all this is ephemeral. Friendship, love. I have been reminded of that again. We may know it as well as we know that the day has to yield to the night. Yet it still hurts to realise that all these words of support and encouragement finally poorly disguise other motives. I do not blame anyone to have other motives, maybe I blame myself to play the fool so willingly. Now the day is breaking, the birds are starting their morning concert, unaware of sorrow or joy. They just are. Another day will pass by. New thoughts or recycled thoughts will replace the old ones.
Indeed, music is the only place where I can sense life in all its glory. I travel the globe, I walk many paths and many roads, but eventually always come back to this place. It’s a divine place, but the price to pay is high. How did Beethoven, Mozart, Chet Baker, or Edith Piaf live that? We know about their lives, but it’s scary for me to admit it. The wise masters say that our own reality is only made of what we put it in. How can I add happier ingredients?
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