Disregarding the missing sections, here's what's appearing for me. It's an amazingly beautiful day here in the North Carolina mountains. There is a breeze blowing through the trees, the sun is shining, there are white clouds floating in the sky.
I've been practicing a lot the last few months (well, a lot for me); and while progress for me is always slow, there is a perceptible change in tone and technique, and in such things as chordal movement and voicing, and a little better overall understanding of the fingerboard landscape. And perhaps more importantly, there is a perceptible change in the relationship between the player and the music played. The divide between the two is slowly falling away.
We can carry a lot of baggage with us when we sit down to practice. But practice offers the opportunity to let go. When we can let go of all the ideas we have about who it is that picks up the instrument, when we can let go of all our expectations and goals about what practice can bring in the future, when we can let go of seeing the music and the instrument as separate from our very selves, then we have the opportunity, the invitation, to just be music.
Some of you have probably experienced this playing in groups, where you are so locked into the playing that "you" disappear, and there's just playing.
But practicing is more intimate. When we cringe at a missed note, there is separation; there is someone passing judgement. But when we can see that "someone" is passing judgement, when we see that separation as it arises, right there in the middle of practice, then we have the opportunity, the invitation, to be understanding and compassionate, to gently let go, to let the separation fall away.
This too is, for me, part of practice. For when we pay attention, practicing music can teach us a lot about who we really are as human beings.
For those willing to inquire deeply within, sitting down with the instrument can be transformative. Perhaps that's why it's called an Alembic.
Enjoy your day.
