Music Cannot Die, It Can Only Rest
The silence of the pause is deafening but the discomfort says it all: when the music pauses, you realize that the music was all you had to begin with.
The quiet hours morph into
days and weeks
and possibly
years.
But the singer cannot stay quiet.
The precussionist cannot rest still.
The energy that pulses through a musician doesn’t just dissipate when they stop playing. The energy must be released.
So we scan our surroundings, grasping at blades of grass, searching for hope in the quiet. Searching for light in the stillness. Finding our sadness in the grit between our toes as it boils up through our veins and becomes electricity that burns through our fingertips.
Everything we touch becomes a piece to the next song though our voices remain quiet.
The energy must go somewhere. It’s not over yet.
As long as humans walk this earth; as long as our neurons continue to fire and our nerves continue to react…as long as our humanity remains intact and we’re able to feel the heat in our bellies, we will find a way to adapt and survive. As long as our hearts remain warm, no matter how heavy or how light, we will move throughout our life with a desire for connection. As long as our bodies feed off of connectivity, we will find way to communicate.
Through song, the musician connects — not just to the world but to themselves.
We trill for love.
We croon for loss.
We will always sing for connection but first, we must rest and replenish in the pause.
