Agog

Music, a most cruel mistress as well as the reason for living, life’s blood, in other words. A dangerous dichotomy, and one that you’re not able to rid yourself. A terminal disease that will also make you feel like you’re free falling from the highest of highs, only to miss the ground, instead pulling up at the last second and flying parallel to the terra at a speed not yet calculated. Nothing like it. Anywhere. Anytime.
From the very first strains of music I ever heard, I’ve been the cobra to the piper. Rejecting the notion of being a mere spectator, I’ve been driven beyond reason my entire adult life to express myself fully in the artform.
I have.
And I continue to suffer for my art, my craft, and the suffering is delicious as well as heartbreaking.
With a dash of confusion thrown into the stew I watch others around me less motivated, less talented, blessed or cursed with the trappings of success -you take your pick- and I wonder... but mysteries in this life are far too numerable to fathom, and what energy you possess needs to be used for accelerating your pace, championing your virtues, your talents, the ones you truly believe in. Within your skin there’s much to be concerned, so leave others to theirs.
Far from failing, however, I eventually realized my childhood dreams. My years in the spotlight were a virtual fireworks display, vibrating with the pulse of the universe, lassoing the energy of a supernova as I did. And I lived it. To the hilt. For many, many years. Only much later, when suffocating under a blanket of lost passion and a gnawing, powerful disgust of less than motivated people surrounding me did I come to a crossroads. And at that moment, when faced with the reality of my current status, I made an unnerving decision to leave it all behind.
And I did.
The artform is that pure to me, and if I cannot make it or exist in it for the reasons that motivate me, then I’d rather not. The high levels of respect for the origins of your output share no equal, so accept none lesser.
Retiring to a plot of land in the middle of nowhere, I shut the world and all that entails out completely. But I continued to listen. And I thought. I reflected and I reacted. And I learned, And I grew. And I strengthened. And my focus sharpened. And I was happy... or so I thought.
The cruel mistress just wouldn’t let me be. Despite my self imposed exile from the world and everything I knew and loved, she kept knocking at my door, demanding entrance, pleading with me in the softest and most alluring of voices to come take refuge in her arms and caresses.
Cleansed of all that had corrupted my fiber, I couldn’t resist... once again.
Only now am I surfacing from a specific musical journey I’m overseeing which pulled me under, and I gleefully succumbed to its demands, gloriously so.
Once again I disconnected from the world to plunge into the deep azure waters of creativity and I drowned, over and over and over... Abstention from the day to day has never been more divine, and the results reflect it.
Today, however, I’m alone. Work has taken leave. Yesterday I was vibrant and alive beyond measure. I was necessary, vital, every nerve ending on fire, hard wired into the gamma. Yet, today, the circuits temporarily shut off, I am empty. I’m worthless. And, like a drug addict, I need a fix. Bad. I’m dying here while the cruel mistress cackles at the top of her lungs, proclaiming sanctimonious victory while observing my withering demise and flailing, boiling discomfort.
Then the phone rings. A friend from the west coast calls to tell me of the swelling of his heart, as well as the parameters of his horizons, realizing the power and the glory of music we made together several months prior, awed at the reaction to it, explaining how his innermost, spiritual beliefs were rejuvenated because of our time spent together making his music come alive. “Will never be the same. Can see now.” His humbleness sang hallelujah to my vision and the willingness to give it freely, share it as if it wasn’t mine in the first place. And it wasn’t! A call directed my way by angels who understand all too well. A timely, heartfelt thankfulness that bore no price tag. Reinforcing the beliefs in my abilities and the need to press forward. At all costs...
See?
Right when I needed it the most, a balm, a salve, if you will, arrives to heal my weakened heart; a small light illuminating the dark for this woebegone man-child. The circle very much broken, but not in pieces, and very much alive and necessary.
You see? A most cruel mistress.
A most glorious interlude.
A tango I hope is without end...
Strike up the fuckin’ band! Get down like you mean it! With conviction! With purpose!
There isn’t any looking back. Second guessing is for fools and lost souls.
I’m not either.
And I’m far from done.
I’m almost happy.
Thine the glory.
Mine the satisfaction. Mine the burden. Mine.
All mine.
You blood-sucking bitch.