Music from hope, from heart, from heaven.

(Listening to Miles Davis "All Blues")

Music saves me.
It soothes me.
It helps me process this life.
Words and melodies arranged in a way that reflect my emotions. Or speak to my situations or agree with my decisions.
I want to say I "love" music but that is too base an understanding of what exist between me and this life entity.
Music doesn't need me to exist or even to appreciate it.
It just is. It just does. It just gives and allows me a position.
A creator, innovator, appreciator, or just a consumer. All irrelevantly relevant at the same time.

Representing this relationship in my movements.
Collectively shaking, spinning, gyrating, whining, head-nodding, foot-tapping or simply being elevated.
Independently elevated by sound.

Bouncing off of walls.
Spending all of my money.
Keeping up with the technology so I can unequivocally loose myself in its embraces.
Octaves and majors and minors and rests and renditions.
Highs and lows and semitones and crescendos of sound.
Allegros of want.

And I listen to this tickling of my heart and know that I live for it.
Would die for it.
Couldn't do without it.
Like air.
Like water.
Like sex.
Like love.

When this world ends...should it end...
Or since It promised us a "world without end"
In its transitions,
I'll listen for the beat, the snare, the drum roll.
I'll listen for the wind from his lungs and the pounding of her ivories and the strumming of those strings confirming that this is life.
I'll listen for the waves and foots steps and claps and shakes and booms.
I'll watch and feel all as if each sound was connected to a red blood cell and the arrangement were a sign.
That each breath, each rhythm, each clot was life.

Because it lives in me. On me. For me. Of me. Enveloping me. Making me awkward...
So that my soul could respond to this world, almost daily,
Like a lover.