Why then is it so difficult to accept change as inevitable?, I ponder again, this time with tablas, ukulele and didgeridoo softly adding the score.
Why so much heartache accepting the fact that:
I no longer own my home
I no longer control the (lower ranges) of the beating of my heart
I no longer have a security blanket for emergency needs
I can no longer compete at the levels I have been accustomed to for, well, forever?
But the interlude scherzo (modulating to a major key) is now one that sounds like a session joining Bartok and The Beatles.
The chorus is simple in its complexity, ancient in an embryonic spin, a timeless theme played more with pathos than bravado. Pianissimo. One might even call it operatic.
It is this:
Why can I not accept the happiness and inner peace that this day brings? Why must I match it to what was and become saddened in the comparison? Do I have so little faith in myself and that elusive Higher Power that the failures of the past divine similar in the future? What is it about the now that makes it so difficult to keep in its time signature?
The theme plays again. I hear the open, prepare for the solo and want for nothing other than its successful reciting.
With the option that it is my tune and I am its composer, conductor and play first fiddle from the first chair. I can change it anytime I wish and the orchestra will follow, Bela, John, Paul, George and Ringo all adding their spirit and virtuosity to my pithy and personal score.
The score of my life. The soundtrack of today. What it sounds like to be alive and aware of the here and to be now.
The theme matures.
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