Quiet Sunday reflections.

It’s been a while.

I’m back at school now and quiet reigns. It tends to do that on Sundays, here at our small little campus. I revel in it.

I’m sitting alone in our kitchen now, full and satisfied after a lunch made up of left over pasta from last night, some sauted broccoli and garlic and some sunny side up eggs. More often than not, simple takes the win.

I woke up to snow falling and it still shows no sign of slowing down, and I don’t want it to. I like the peace it brings. How you suddenly know you have full permission to just stay inside and cuddle up with everything that’s deemed good and cozy.

I like watching the big snowflakes dance and twirl in the air like a massive ensamble, coherent but all over the place all at once, and I enjoy giving each one a personality. It seems as if some just can’t wait to get to the ground, knowing full well that to cover and protect it was why heaven let them go in the first place, while others are full of spunky energy, eventually compliant but not about to give in without a little resistance. So instead of falling in a straight line they compete against each other, to see who can ride the wind and stay in the air longest. They kind of look like the leaves do in Pocahontas. And the game they play is kind of like “the ground is lava”, only elevated.

I’ve hardly said a word today. I played and sang a little, but even the singing felt out of place. Too out there.

I never know what will come out of me when I sit down by the piano and I never want to get tired of the mystery of finding out. I can feel completely empty, but as soon as my fingers touch the keys they still create rythms and melodies and somehow, it came out of me.

Sometimes I like to imagine it as my superpower. I sit down and as I slowly extend my arms I picture streams of energy traveling from somewhere deep inside me out through my arms, through my fingers and then touching the black and white, turning the initially golden stream into a million different colors.
Every time I do it, it feels like magic.
Like an exchange, of sorts. Like letting go of something I wasn’t able to put into words only to be flooded by sounds and dissonance and harmonies in return.

What a great exchange.

Imagine how many stored up feelings lie hidden in every instrument. Or maybe that’s just it- they don’t keep score, don’t store. Maybe they simply receive for a short time and then release, with every escaping note. Such masters of feeling they must be.

These past few days, the sounds that have greeted me when I’ve sat down to play have been much quieter than usual, much deeper, much more repetitive, much more contemplative. Sometimes they almost feel as if they are about to rock me to sleep.
I haven’t felt the usual need to sing, but instead an urgent need to listen. To reflect. To dive deep.

You can probably tell, from this very reflective little collection of words.
But if I’ve learned anything about creativity it’s that it is never stagnant.
It’s everchanging, everflowing, and any being who wants to create has to learn to flow with it. Same rule can be applied for life in general, really. Speak when you have something to say and when you don’t, shut up and listen.

So, I’m listening.
I might feel differently tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow, it tells me it’s time to come up to the surface and set free all I found in the deep. Or maybe it says it’s time to dive deeper still.
Whichever it brings, I’m ready.

I’m in love with this ever changing road and I never get sick of the thrill that’s found in the twists and turns.


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