Sorry Elephants, I Like Tickling Your Ivory?

My friend left me with her little, lovely, upright Yamaha for the year as she embarks on a counseling internship overseas. 

Sweet Jungles of Large Mammals, how I have missed playing the piano on a daily basis. The forgotten memory of how an instrument hinges your internal world onto a centered emotional reality has been beautiful to re-experience.

After a week of nannying baby Yamaha, I caught myself in class with my fingertips touching the opposing ones as I went up the scale of notes inside my head. Doe, rae, me, fa, sow, la, tee, doe. Julie Andrews let us be friends and parade around Vienna’s magnificent mountains together with a female deer sewing us outfits from curtains.

Glee. Giddy glee.

I am truly grateful for having a musical outlet that enables a different, esoteric, deeply personal expression, in which I am content to have it all to myself. There is no need to find approval for this artistic exposition of my world. Salve to the soul.

Find one. An outlet. It is crucial. A deeply spiritual need we all have and it is somewhere underneath our often static surfaces–somewhere lies a current that is waiting to exhale and awaken, foolishly.

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