I think I’m feeling extra lonely today. Often the pain of loneliness is physical, and emotional. My body aches, and my chest hurts in particular. Often I can feel the tears get caught in my throat, and I swallow them before they can go elsewhere. If you’ve ever heard me sigh, then you know where they’ve gone.
A dear, sweet friend of mine posted a lovely video today, showing a refuse worker (garbageman for all of us Yanks) playing a piano fated to be destroyed. The piano is slightly out of tune, her tone a bit rough, but her music is true, and her spirit is still alive. She wants to sing, she wants to clear her throat and tell the rest of the world she still exists, she’s still relevant, and she could still be loved. Yet there she is, next to a heap of stacked appliances slated for destruction.
I think about the piano, and I hope that her life has been a full one. I hope she was played by youthful, and erstwhile fingers. I hope she was pivotal in the serenade of a lover, I hope she was treasured and beloved from one generation to the next, with framed photos of the dearly loved and departed sitting atop her, their smiling faces reminders that the past doesn’t have to be a static, mournful thing.
Mostly, I hope she was played with a fervent passion. I hope that she faithfully interpreted those fevered thoughts and wishes of the human beings who strove to put their dreams and sorrows into strains of beautiful cacophony. I hope the kitty cats that alighted atop her keys made mishmashed tinkerings of sweet and sour notes, adding their own whiskered voices to the glorious legacy of her sound.
I anthropomorphise her, I realize that, but even so she is more than just an object, more than just an instrument. We should revere the tools that help us create and explore. We should respect them, and treat them as companions, just as sincerely loved and adored as our friends. It is in the best interests of our charity, and our humility, to do so.
I have no gods. I have no idols. Sacred is an entirely abstract concept to me regarding most uses of the term. Yet here, in the fulcrum of our creativity is something truly sacred. Whether it be instrument, canvas, text, or just clasping someone’s hand in sincere solidarity, there is a sacred tie in all of it. That sacred tie is love. Of course it is love. I miss love.
Please enjoy the accompanying video. It is relevant to this post.
Until next time,