A Musician's Musings

I wonder, why me?

I wonder, what did I do to deserve this?

But then I got back -

Back to the music that was and is my life.

Did it really mean anything to anyone? Did it change anyone’s

Heart, to help them do better?

And then I remember -

How he shot me, left me on the street - dead, dying, decaying.

Left me there with a look of such hatred and loathing,

A dark, deep loathing for me.

And I remember thinking - why did this happen to me?

But then I realize - it was the music.

He was a man who had written me a letter a few weeks back

Telling me that my music and I,

My lilting, soothing, jazz, on my ages-old saxophone,

Was incompetent, inconceivably ridiculous, a waste.

Telling me to get out, and that if he ever saw me again, I was a dead man!

I hadn’t thought he meant it - he seemed delusional.

But I guess he had.

And then the music took me in its arms, calling for me, reasoning with me. Listen to me, it said.

And I realize - that man had Listened - Listened to the music, my music. And it had installed in him Such a deep opposition that he sought to take my life!

And I realize - if my music did that much to make a man mad, mean, mutilating,

It could do that much to make a man good, graceful, giving.

And I no longer wonder - my music did great things.

And I no longer question - my music worked miracles.

And I no longer doubt - my music healed relationships, forged relationships, created memories in Relationships.

And I know - music is life.