Letting Go

I have been thinking about the ephemeral nature of music. It is the art of shaping time, and, like time, it is fleeting. It may leave a memory or feeling in its wake, but it can’t be suspended.

Then there is that urge to document – to preserve everything. It is almost as if we need an external storage unit (hard drive?) to validate our existence. I also like memorabilia, but have found that those images and experiences that I carry in my head are the most meaningful….. whether imprinted without effort, or approached mindfully.

These memories can be simple or complicated: feeling the physical perfection of my own existence as a 10 year-old on a beautiful spring day; the image of a glacial lake nestled high in the mountains, looking like the eye of a peacock feather; or holding my daughter for the first time.

Perhaps this documentation is driven by the desire not just to remember, but to be remembered. As Lord Byron wrote in first canto of Don Juan, in answer to the question “What is the end of fame?”:

To have, when the original is dust,                                               A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

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