Jazz fills my studio these days. It has mostly always been only Joan Baez that otherwise occupied the sound waves of my space, and then, for no real reason I suddenly remembered the sounds from my father's music collection, and I was filled with this deep desire to reconnect with some of them. Without ever being the teacher, I see today so many things my father's life rubbed off on me. Perhaps because I was like the runt of the litter, a sickly mousey child in my early years, I absorbed through being a silent witness to things merely because I just happened to be around.
Today when I teach it remains my constant desire to want for my students to feel their journeys. They sometimes look rather nonplussed at my passionate pleas to get their emotive senses in unison with their intellectual worlds, but this combination like a secret lock, is the only way that opens up one's ability to travel an imaginative landscape, and find a real and truthful destination within it for oneself.
Everything holds the sparks that may ignite the magic of marvel and which can lead to becoming seminal to discovery. We often find our truth in the least expected spaces; in the least imagined ways. Struggle has its own delight in cheating you too with the easy with which it often slips its rewards your way. I love those times that discovery dawns much later than when it should have, catching one unawares.
Where does my wanderlust take me today.
Sometimes I knock on doors that will never open.
But so often I am in treasure troves of delight, and asleep.