Forward Progression: Why Each Step Towards The Sun Stings A Little More

We are all determinists. We, often, without thought or reason, succumb to each other's ideas and ideologies only because it's that much easier to wriggle into the layers of the already built. We're all hostages of simplicity. It's this doctrine of beliefs that cements our legs to a toppling world. It's not neccessarily our fault, though. It's how we, as a collective society, were brought up. We were taught early that we could learn vocabulary from a six foot tall, bright yellow bird. It's in the way we developed a disdain for healthy cereals after a cartoon tiger assured us that his flakes were "grrrrrreat". It's in the way that we fall in love with our father's favorite baseball team, only to jump ship to project an image of extreme individuality. It's in the way that we emulate our favorite porn stars during sex, just to heighten a developing libido to a universe of bragging to your friends. But, you know, we mostly look the same when we're in that box at the end. Eyes closed, lips straight, arms folded. And on that day - silence. Where will the music go?

I mean not to unearth a swirl of commentary, whether it's political or spiritual, but I say this because I look at the thousands and thousands of musicians, artists, and figures to cut through our lives for a few years, you know, just to sear through a couple thousand fans, and then they disband - leaving only the lyrics in our heads and the frequencies on wax. I look at these people, and I forget that there were ever a generation of pre-iPod people who found their solace in the strings and bows, and before that (the pre-pre-iPod ancients) found enlightenment in chanting. And, you know, maybe before that, there was a thing called silence, but we have far surpassed that with headphones and speakers and amplifiers and cabinets and CDs and MP3s. I think if we were reintroduced to silence, and I don't mean the "up in the Adirondacks at 3 AM" silence, I mean ancient silence, we'd all be lost. The same silence that maybe permeated our ancestor's bodies, the silence that would, today, send us into fits. It would twist our muscles and our tongues into bevies of tissue. I would think that there's an importance in a silence like that, because it makes every second of sound wealthy. A piano would be a gold mine to our souls. Sadly, we let this precious noise slide passed us, while we credulously careen through our days like the assassins that we are.

What I mean to say, in the basest way, is that we were born into music. We were always around it, and a lot of us were taught how to create it. While we grew up, we learned to listen to it. Some of us in passing, some of us more intently, and some, like myself, chose to be immersed in it. I think, now, that maybe to have such an obsession with music is a plague. It could be more worthwhile to listen to a song, or even a record for months, learning every interweaving message, every naive passage, every suckered sensibility, every blister, every cut, every mortifyingly long silence and every clamorous sound. But it won't be more worthwhile. I wish I had all of the seconds in the world to spend with the sounds that I love, but in between the money trees, the plates of responsibility, and the mountains of tasks, there is no way to consistently spend your life in between headphones. Surely, I'm not the only one who is this depraved. I think it not the best of aspirations, but it fits the description, nonetheless. My quandary, here, is that there are many who fail to appreciate the sensitivity between darkness and light, and that just don't see the scrupulous nature of how breathtaking an experiment we're all a part of. As people, we always air on the side of cautiousness, but never do we abscond the way a song makes us feel. A song can make you cry, it can make you laugh, it can conjure up images of places you've never been, and memories you forgot you had. We are all a part of a social phenomenon, in that we are allowed an instant and gratifying pallet, just by pressing play. How many of us, though, have embraced that ideal? Each step towards the sun stings a little more only because you're moving closer towards something real. Is it part of you to clammer towards that reality?

So frequently, we forget about the power of the things that we accept as just another raindrop. We cannot let music become a crack in the sidewalk, and whether it's turning on the radio, dropping the needle on the record, singing in the shower, or picking up your tuba, it's our job to keep this diamond in our hearts. Let yourself have a soundtrack to everything you do. Appreciate what millions of people have contributed to, this conglomerate of people. Reactionary people live reactionary lives at one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Be a part of something and keep listening, even when you think that there's no forgiving conclusions to conclude.

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