I've been donig some research and developement. It's becoming apparant that the world doesn't share my passion (read: obsession) for my craft. That's ok. Sometimes, it's a little annoying to know that I have this "tick". I'm not suprised that the general population doesn't share this illness, I'm suprised that I didn't come to see this earlier (resting my chin on my fist, elbow on crossed-legged knee).

I remember, vividly, the first time my 6th grade school band played together. What a joy. I don't lie to say that my head literally swam with the resonance of the sound -- surrounded by the music, and being a part of it . . . boy did we suck! I didn't care. I was making music. Real music.

Since that day to now (sitting back and looking at the cieling, nostalgia), I've been chasing that sensation again. Gosh, it's such a wonder. I don't know how to explain it. It's like downing a bottle (750ml) of black label Jack in one sitting, it's like the first downhill of the Rattler at 6 Flags, it's like an ice cream cone at the ball park on July 4th, it's like a warm shower when you're stoned, it's like going over a waterfall, it's like standing on the rooftop of a car going 50mph, it's just . . . a special kind of exquisit.

Really, it's a spiritual thing. The more I know, the more I know what I don't know (grimicing at my arm-chair philosophy). It's like that with my spiritual walk, too. The more I know, sense and feel, the more I realize how insignificant I really am. And in that insignificance, I'm elevated by grace and mercy.

Those first days of sitting in Mr. Luderos' 6th grade band at Whittier Middle School created in me a sense of "oneness" with something bigger and larger and better and far older than me. Music has been around since the day the heavens were created and the angels sang their praise. And I get to be a part of that.

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