Practice Well
June 18 2022
A violin cannot sit
for long.
Like anything alive
it will die, if unused.
As children grow up stunted
if no one lets them play.
As muscle atrophies
and synapses wither,
skin turns thin
and parchment-like.
As the heart
will shrivel and stop
if not kept warm.
As if the instrument itself
absorbs energy,
breathing-in the sound
feeding-off the bow.
While a dormant violin
may still make music
but sounds dead inside,
no nuance
overtones
or heart-rending notes.
The molecular memory of wood
is like heritage;
whether by genetics
circumstance
or some collective property of mind,
passed on
down generations
and reborn in us.
I have no idea
how an inanimate object
could behave like this.
But when I listen
to a supple instrument
in a master's loving hand
no one need explain.
It's enough to accept
that there is something in the wood
and the tree from which it came
in which memory persists;
the thickness of varnish
degree of dryness
heartwood, sapwood, pith.
How atoms bond
molecules resonate.
How the whole
is greater than the parts.
If not quite a soul
then the ghost in the machine.
Practice well.
Or blow the dust
from your old violin
and give it to someone who will.
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