Dissertation research leads us down unexpected, lonely, and obtuse paths, and I find myself wanting to crawl out of my cave with every brilliant turn of phrase that I come across to share its beauty (Simba-style) with the rest of the world.
But then I wouldn't get anything done, because there is too much brilliance out there to do it all justice.
While reading an article by Jay Keister on the shakuhachi, its use as a spiritual tool in Zen meditation, and the degree of individualism allowed in its performance, I was particularly struck by a Zen-music-life analogy included from Michael Chikuzen Gould:
"We come from nothing, we live, we die, but somewhere in between, we have something. We have no form, then form, then no form again."
In it, I find a disarming kind of simplicity and surety that simultaneously seems to confirm why making music has felt so powerful to me in the past and opens the door to a more profound kind of ongoing enjoyment for the future.