I open my hotel-room door and a seven-year-old girl in a bright dress smiles at me as she passes by. She is carrying a white rose and leading a wedding party. I had just opened my heart more to my writing before leaving my room.
Later, at Barnes and Noble in the poetry section I notice a book, The Music Lover’s Poetry Anthology, which has been here since the last time I visited San Diego almost two months ago. I feel a little sad that no one cared to buy it since my last visit. On the other hand, maybe the book was waiting for me to buy it. I found this Basho poem in the book.
The temple bell stops—
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers.
(Translated by Robert Bly)
My son, Will, had a recent dream in which Warren Buffet gave him a billion dollars. My son probably will surpass me as a stock-picker. I’m glad for him. My recent dreams have had guitars in them. But my guitars sit in their cases—untouched. Instead of playing them, I worry about the melodies of my songs being too weak. While contemplating a melody of a song I wrote not too long ago, I peruse a book on melody and find the song “Killing Me Softly” which has repetitive notes in the beginning like my song. My song’s melody is more skip-wise complex but not as catchy. I’m probably worried about my songs’ melodies because I’m afraid of having a distinct musical voice.
I would like my musical voice to be:
The sound of flowers blooming
The scent of a song on the wind
The taste of sunlight
In the air
Photo Credit: Photo by Sharon Mollerus at Flickr Creative Commons.