Silence - no thought one way or the other - no distinctions. Profound thoughts envelope however, such purity is often mistaken for mock whimsy, disorder even hugger-mugger and concordia discors, as it was once described.
One demiurge even set about proving an unrelenting inexorability under the aegis of ex-cathedra that could be both accosting and piercing. There is a natural flow to life - what may appear certain can be mistaken for fate - hence the pre-disposition for people to embellish reality with fairy tales.
Now where does all this leave us? Both writer and reader are duty bound to be on guard, to assign and perceive artistry, so when moments leap off the page, they can be held up to the light for introspection and forceful critique. To what end? Well that depends on a standpoint and attitude. A mere reflection is not unjust but certainly forgiven if not delivered with complete authenticity.
So, what is this about? The short answer is music and its environs, but not in a literal sense, for what constitutes music? Ye Olde Macquarie (concise) dictionary defines music as:
“…art of organising sound in significant forms to express ideas…through…rhythm, melody, harmony…and interestingly, colour…” which is not immediately obvious, of course this is all just about a musician’s output, there is a (sometimes) forgotten element.
The conception of music occurs in silence, at least to the external world. A musician operates internally which can be a maelstrom - an island of fire and abrasiveness as much as an oasis of calm and contemplation.
The internal journey of a musician - the life that surrounds and encompasses musical conception and direction - welcomes both triumph and catastrophe, and will be narrated accordingly. So where to begin?