Wishful thinking
Never has the blade called so strongly as it has tonight.
Makes me wish I had a sword. To gesture, to cleave, to carve, to brighten, to defend, to signal, to refrain from using, to lead, to draw the line.
My voice was a bit of one. Rehearsal … Jeffery’s birthday, in the Mondavi Center, with troubles and beauty following each other. Cold air, warm body, harmony and unison. The music was permeating us, soaking into us, absorbing us in its plenitude of singly pure lines. I love the last rehearsals – high tensions, sweet lovely drinkable sounds when it goes right… I wish I could make time for it next quarter.
Oh, to have the words flow as easily from keyboard as from voice, to have every pure sound spring as naturally to each occasion as though rehearsed for years. To be able to soar to high C and descend just as gracefully and warmly to the deep chocolatey reverberations of the chest. To be able to show emotion fully through tone and sound alike, to have listeners who understand the modulations of voice and know instinctively what each means.
Oh, to be as facile in communication as I am in my imagination. I live a thousand lives in each thought, each permutation. If only I could follow all the paths! I don’t want immortality in the usual sense. I want to be able to begin again and again, explore each possibility and bring experience to bear in all of them.
Life and human foible are too limiting. A shame it can’t be made smoother, we lose so much beauty in the speedbumps.
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