Mendelssohn's Incidental Music - A MidSummer Night's Dream

There is some music that transports me right into my head.  As if the composer knew my mind, completely unraveled before him and decided to write a portion of what he experienced.  Mendelssohn was one, Chopin another, and Enya might very well have property somewhere inside my mind.

Specific pieces though, speak to me. And oddly, most often it is not the mainstream love that so many others have.  I have spent a portion of this evening digging through my memories, attempting to find these inspired pieces on Spotify.  It is not as easy as it looks.  Do you know exactly how many nocturnes Chopin has? And how many in whichever key signature? Still, you discover new music when you do and that can be quite fun in itself.

I'm a sucker for many different kinds of music. I may have mentioned this in a previous post a fair few years ago.  Give me Imagine Dragons and Coldplay, then later douse me with Chopin, Debussy, and don't forget Vivaldi.  Then later, a night cap of Frankie Valli and mix a bit of Sam Cooke in there and we have a night of some of the best music.

Oh, music is like the auditory story sans words.  And when there are words, I feel the emotion, the story behind the words being used.  Oh, the adventures I have listening to music.  Spotify is my own musical library and it is my secondary love.

I'm sure in another life I would've been a bard or an ancient storyteller.  Imagine being the first to tell the story of Beowulf! Being in that captivated audience! And oftentimes stories of that age were sung, not simply spoken.  Then someone had a novel idea! To write it down! So be sure, dear fellows, that music and books were borne of the same dream.  And it is quite true that most often, I am unable to write without some inspiring music playing in the background.

The music sets my stage.  The perfect music is important to emote what I need, to allow for a smoother voyage into my mind.  And then I am poised, baton raised, instruments up, just waiting for the down beat and count to begin my opus.

There is a reason that the derivative of music is the word muse.  It is one of mine.  And I never explore a new world of mine without it.

Goodnight, weary world.  My candle burns bright and long this night.

As The Train Passes The Station

Are you on the train? Or are you at the station? From which perspective would you choose? Do you work there, on the train or at the station? Or are you a customer, someone who has paid a price for the ticket and is about to embark, just arrived, or just now leaving the destination? 

Are you family or friends seeing one off or searching the crowd for a long lost face?  Are you travelling for work and so have no one to greet you or see you off? Are you a spy searching for information or an informant? Are you searching for a suspect or a victim? Are you simply watching the trains go by?

Are you lost or sad, or excited and eager? Who are you in all this mess? Or is no one there but you? Are you the ticket collector on the train, going about your business, or have you snuck on board and trying to avoid him or her? Do you enjoy trains or hate them? Did you want to travel by train or are you shackled to the method of travel for some reason or another? What is that reason? 

Is it evening, morning, or so late that all are asleep but you? Have you lost your luggage, or do you like to travel light? Did you pack a lunch or are you a big spender?  How long is your trip or how short? Where are you going, where have you come from? Are you stopping to catch a bus or a taxi, or renting a vehicle to get around? Do you watch out the window or do you people-watch? Or are you consumed with your technological object in your hand or lap? Is something important or frivolous happening in your life right at that moment?

Can you see the stories, the adventures, the tragedies, and the comedies as they pass you by?  Can you see how many directions and how straight the paths you could take?  Can you see just how many stories there are at one juncture of one place in a fraction of a few moments?

Don't delude yourself or let others make you think it has all been written and there can never be anything new.  Those are the ones who have lost their ideals.  They have forgotten their dreams and let their imaginations dry up.  There is always a new story to tell, a new character to meet, and a new world to walk among.  The similarities are what allow us to connect, but the stories are not their plot points.  They are like us: important to the final detail and as unique as fingerprints.

Feel Good Inc.

I will admit that yesterday I looked at my book like some intimidating door to this huge expanse that I had to build all myself; like all the parts to a house laying on the property but no blueprints except the ones in your head.

Then I wrote my blog post.  By the time I finished, it didn't feel so intimidating. It suddenly felt more welcoming.

Okay, I thought. I can ease into this.  And suddenly, boom! A chapter and a half edited without any sweat, blood, or tears.  Can this actually occur? And can it occur twice in a row?

That I cannot tell you, but I can tell you that it has been leaning heavier in my mind since yesterday.  And now I feel I have been waiting all day to get to this point.  Maybe that's why I did all the dishes, folded all the clothes, took the kiddos to the library, went grocery shopping, did all the laundry, and made dinner.  Just so I could say, I've done enough for all of you, now leave me to it. I've got work to do.

And here I am, once again at the precipice, ready to dip into my adventure once more.  The pool is calm, undisturbed and so beautiful in this light.  It is as I am the first to disturb such water, and I feel that it has invited only me into its depths.

Into its depths, I willingly go. For it will whisper stories no other can tell. And I am ready to hear.