I can state this as a personal fact--music is my usual. It's a familiar face in a new town, a bright beacon in the middle of a stormy sea, the guiding trail through a decieving forest. It's a common language among nations, a lovely middle ground between new aquaintances, a healing element for broken friendships. Can you imagine a world without music, my dear readers? How dreadful would that be? I'd rather hear nothing at all than everything except music. But friends, as long as I have a voice, I'll sing. As long as I have fingers, I'll play. I promise. Will you promise too? There is something I once read, and it goes like this: ". . . and he answering said to them, `I say to you, that, if these shall be silent, the stones will cry out!'" We are "these," my friends, and "these" are much better musicians than the rocks (yes, even singing off-pitch in the shower.) Let's not leave the music making to the rocks. Their usual is lying in the forest and looking pretty, not pouring forth songs from their hearts. That usual belongs to us. Music was made to be humanity's usual. We are the only earthly creations capable of it. Let's not waste that, eh?
So, maybe my question has changed from "what's your usual?" to "how usual is music to you?" Is it a best friend, or more of the "new kid?" Is is your favorite blanket, or an unfamiliar, itchy sheet? Your hometown, or a foreign country? Your forever-and-always . . . or your not-just-yet? Wherever we stand, let's not be rocks. If we become as rocks, then the actual rocks will be forced to take away our most sacred possession as a creation--our melody. Know this, dear readers: music speaks, and it will always have something to say as long as there are open ears to listen to its message and musicians to pass it along.
