Better Than That
I discovered my piano again. I turned off all the lights and sat there with my eyes closed. I put my hands on the keys and I stopped thinking. My fingers did things that sounded beautiful. Some things were incredibly simple and abstract, others were complex. There were combinations of sounds so strikingly beautiful in their simplicity. The rich tone of the piano flowed through me. The sustained resonance of one single note was enough to make my heart feel as if it would burst through my chest. I didn't interfere.
I continued to let my fingers move across the keys as they wished and I listened to what they did. At one point, I heard Antonio Carlos Jobim. Magnificent Jobim. Perhaps my most beloved modern composer. My fingers were not perfect in their execution, but they were playing things they had never played before. I just let them go.
Before long, I felt a fire in the center of my chest, followed by hot tears streaking down my face. I didn't really understand them, nor did I try. I just felt in them a sweet, sweet kind of pain, as if something had been set free, something that had been unjustly locked away, having committed no crimes but was banished anyway. It was one of my many pieces of banished self. It knew the sorrow of being forgotten and the joy of being remembered and I felt both at once.
I sat there in the dark for over an hour and I just let whatever was inside come out in the sweet sounds of hammered strings. More Jobim. More sweet pain, for it's hard to detach his music from a certain time in my life where I came to know love in its most pure form, and while lost in the ecstasy of it, didn't notice that I was being wrapped in the razor wire of all that is not love in the world. I made it out alive but I nearly bled to death and I still bear scars and occasionally discover wounds that I believed were healed.
The last thing I found myself playing (and I never would have pulled this one from my conscious mind) was "Where Is Love," a song I barely know but heard covered many years ago. I had to look it up to discover that it was from the play, "Oliver," with which I am completely unfamiliar. Generally, when things happen this way, it's my "higher mind" trying to tell me something. I'm pretty sure I know what it is. I just haven't wanted to look at it.
I will look no closer tonight. I haven't made it to bed before 6:00 AM in days. If I stop now, I can get to bed before 5:00 AM, which means I might get as many as 5 hours sleep without interruption. Yippee! And goodnight.