Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Storytime. You may not know this, but our dear Lorena once had herself a dear John, destination is more than decreed in the phrasing. Before they met, a few things had to happen. Some transformative. The kind of things that leave the soul heavier. Today, it is all about John.
John never gets to play. His one-track mind puts off any kind of real enjoyment until he has finished his work to his satisfaction. Satisfaction was never easy to come by.
His one-track mind, destination cogville… mmmmm you know what, he wouldn’t get the reference to the cogs from Chaplin’s Modern Times because he was never allowed to watch movies, and he never found the need to scrutinize that. Childhood was about chores, school, homework, and being the emotional support, his mother needed. He never quite fit the bill. Textbook. Even after his mother’s passing, he couldn’t fathom a different life for himself. Survival mode was the only speed he knew how to keep.
Daily grind was nothing to him, scratch that, it provided structure, and that comforted him. However, there was no joy. Not in his morning coffee, much less in the bowl of soggy cereal he shoveled into his mouth before work. It never occurred to him to change his schedule or habits. God forbid he would miss a beat. He kept time as a function of what was expected of him. He nourished himself, as expected, as was indicated. Compliance with life. He was great at that. That didn’t cause him pleasure either.
Imagine love, it was never on the to-do list. Life had proffered up a series of meet-cutes he brushed-off, not even recognizing an opportunity. You need to to show yourself love before you can love. What did that even look like? He never considered anything was missing.  Had he not been on the 5 o’clock bus that Tuesday, he wouldn’t have overheard the conversation about music that would set his life a blaze. A child was describing the instruments and sounds in a song he was learning at school. He seemed to get lost in words like staccatos, high, low, sustain. It was John getting lost in the words. He had never paid attention to the radio, much less street musicians. All sounds, up to that moment, had been part of a great wall of noise, each part indistinguishable from the next. He experienced life that way, having to face a wall of noise that included requests, demands, and some of his basic needs. Was it the hum from the bus’s engine that let him relax and listen in on this child’s description to his mother? Was it the vision of a reality he would have loved for himself? It would have been nice. Whatever it was, he shot up and rang the bell signaling the bus driver to let him off at the next stop. To potentially experience, that was more than enough. Call it serendipity, but there was a record store at the corner, known for its eccentric owner. If you let him, he would be your spiritual guide into awakening that soul-searching eye through music. John would be in the right hands.
Today, he would discover a part of his brain and self, accessed only with the resources music provides to understand the world on a sensorial plane, one in which souls connect over waves and descriptions that become seared into your soul. Continue Reading

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