The Wooden Box

I had a brief moment of clarity the other day:

While practicing, I stopped for a moment and looked at my piano. For some reason, at that instant, I no longer saw a musical instrument; I saw a wooden box.

I didn’t recognize it; my emotions didn’t respond; the relationship disappeared.

I couldn’t appreciate its function. I didn’t know its function; I didn’t care to know.

Its 300+ year-old legacy was reduced to a blip in time. All the past masters whom it served are dust. The current masters will be dust but not before they make an impression. And future generations will be mastering a highly evolved, unrecognizable and radical instrument.

My piano is a museum piece. And even still, it won’t last forever; it won’t survive duration.

The best thing one can hope for is that it will make our duration better.

That’s why I play music.

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