Deux fois

Most instruments I have experience with are carved out of wood.

Hollow shells moving in precision with breaths that tell infinite stories.

In each deconstructed vibration is a timbre and resonance totally alien, but also, incredibly familiar.

There has never been a single moment as my creased and broken fingertips touched my favourite instrument that I have ever not felt total elation.

I remember every bump, every raised surface, every single scratch and indentation.

I read them like brail for the blind, carving out rhythms and melodies that couldn’t be made by a thousand angels singing the ebb and flow of life as I drift on a cascading waterfall of devotion.

I am lost without melody. I am dead without rhythm.

Dust gathers on empty shells left to play themselves foolishly by sweeping winds.

Every instrument is unique, each must be played to their full potential, each must be warmed by not only touch, but by speech, understanding, and the desire to create something beautiful…

Out of nothing.

So the next time someone says:

You are instrumental in my life.

Think twice.