I believe that everyone and everything that comes into our lives, does so for a reason. Do I usually understand that reason? No, not until many years later. Occasionally, however, the reason is immediately clear.
In my life, there is a lot of healing that needs to take place. Whether it be through writing, playing piano, or attempting to compose, it needs to happen. Recently there was an event in which I participated that opened a flood gate of sorts for me. I can’t tell you that it was comfortable, but it was opened nonetheless. It made me realize that certain processes didn’t occur when past events happened in my life. Honestly, I really don’t like the fact that I need to go back and rehash all the pain; however, I will do it, if for the only reason that it’ll make me a stronger person.
So which avenue will I take? Writing? Playing? Composing? Probably a combination of all three (with maybe the exception of composing, because my recent attempt was just plain bad). I guess I could elaborate on that… While playing the other day, I started going through one of my past events, mostly emotionally, but also somewhat physically. While this was happening, I started playing, not an already composed piece, but just playing. When I really started to hear what I was playing, it sounded like the musical equivalent of torture (many of you may think that George Crumb, but this was MUCH different). Though I can’t remember the exact notes I was playing, I do remember that it was incredibly dissonant and frequently jumped from one asymmetric meter to another. It almost sounded like someone being dragged behind a two-flat-tired car with no muffler. Now, I don’t think that means I’ll never be able to compose, but that particular sound is not one I’d like to repeat on purpose.
I guess I can just agree to it being the musical equivalent of my then-current emotional state: guttural, angry, scared, and 100% visceral. The more the music came out, the more it felt like someone was pulling it out…along with my guts. After 20 minutes of basically watching my fingers and listening, the sound just stopped. My physical reaction was to cross my arms in front of my belly and squeeze as hard as I could. After that, I could no longer focus. I sat on the bench for another 10 minutes, staring at the piano, and then collected my things and left.
And then there was silence.
My Desert Journey 